


Breath

by visbs88



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Careers (Hunger Games), F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Introspection, M/M, Minor Relationships, Multi, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hurt without comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 01:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visbs88/pseuds/visbs88
Summary: Twenty-four Tributes, a deathly circus: in the year of the thirty-second edition of the Hunger Games, Capitol City's ruthless rules haven't changed. Only one among the boys and the girls drawn by the Reaping will survive the Arena, and Sesshoumaru Taisho is fully aware of it when he volunteers despite the attempts to dissuade him made by his father, former Victor and current Mentor for District 1. Outstanding warrior, gorgeous in his appearance and charismatic by pure nature in addition to his fame, Sesshoumaru knows he can have the public and the sponsors down at his feet, but his path towards glory is going to be far less simple than he has always thought: others are more than ready to fight against him, for them being dreamers, cruel or desperate to the point they would commit any act in order to get back home.In a war made of skills and charm, bonds and strength, feelings and traps, weapons will not be enough to make one's way through blood and tears: fate will be precarious for every and each of the Tributes, till their last breath.“And may the odds be always in your favor”.





	1. If only

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Breath [ITA]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7849579) by [visbs88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/visbs88/pseuds/visbs88). 



> In this fanfic I pour any amount of my soul and dedication. I hope I can make you love the characters and the dynamics between them just as much as I sincerely do (particularly, Sesshoumaru and Inu no Taisho's father&son relationship and the rivalry Sesshoumaru shares with Naraku). I'm Italian, so please be forgiving if my English is a little broken; any suggestion and critique is well-accepted by all means. I'll appreciate any feedback :)  
> Thank you for stopping by, enjoy this first chapter!

He didn't have migraine, nor nausea, nor stomach cramps. He didn't feel his head spinning nor his legs being weak, at least while he was sitting there. Even a panic attack would have been plausible, but it was not the case: his natural tempering was harder, or maybe he had forged himself that way; anyhow, it wasn't enough to avoid that oppressive burden on his heart – and that was the only slightly physical sign of discomfort among the anxiety, the bitterness, the bit of anger which all wafted, cruel, on his mind. There were also sadness and some gloomy, dark, sticky fear: pure anguish, maybe.

His wife appeared on the doorway of the dining room, already wrapped in her dressing gown. He looked at her with his sidelong, taking a quick sight of her tired but relaxed face, then he diverted his eye.

– Why don't you come to bed?

– Try and guess.

He didn't try to be polite. She sighed – but he could see the shade of a smile on her lips, even without staring.

– If you really want to think of it as a question, it was rhetoric. But it was an invitation.

He remained silent, swallowing bile and anxiety. He rubbed his temples just not to keep staying still.

– I won't sleep tonight – he annouced, and there wasn't relief in his sullen resignation – Not if I know for sure that tomorrow the true nightmare will begin.

– Poetic, but way too dramatic – the woman commented, approaching the table. He watched her light a cigarette: she had white, calm, tapered fingers. He felt the need of having a puff or two as well, but he clenched his lips. Then he glanced at her face: she was so beautiful, and so cold. They looked alike, for an odd case. And both of them looked like _him_.

They spent half a minute quietly, until she sighed again, with the same levity.

– I'm sure you would fall asleep at once if you lied in bed – she said with a faint smile – Maybe Sesshoumaru already has, and this is indicative, isn't it?

The weight of his anxiety did nothing but growing.

– Madness – it slipped from his lips. A word as hard as a stone – I can't let him do it.

– You can't stop him, either – the woman talked back at once, calmly – And during the last seven years of his life we've already had this exchanging of lines about a thousand times.

Yes, she was right about that.

– I could... – he murmured, frowning – I could threaten not to help him in there.

Even in that totally innocent circumstance, the sentence vibrated with falsehood and cruelty. His wife's smile became harsh.

– Even if I'm not on your side I advise you against such foolishness – she said, sharply – Not even the retarded dog of a family in District Twelve would believe it. And if Sesshoumaru should buy it he would volunteer for the Games even if he had to slay not twenty-three, but a hundred people, only because of pride. You can't convince him leveraging on some cowardice that he does not have.

His throat felt choked. He realized that his wife was just damn, simply right, and he felt a grimace of pain crossing his face. Was he willing to make himself hated by his own flesh and blood just in order to protect him? Oh, yes, he was. But it wouldn't have worked.

– If only you _were_ on my side – he managed to answer, his teeth clutched – If only _you_ said him not to go... he's _your son_...

Her look became less severe, but more tired.

– I'm done repeating you that I love him – she replicated in a low voice, after a moment of tense pause.

She let some seconds pass by before sitting next to him and taking a hand that, after a quiver, wasn't retracted.

– For the umpteenth time: what you need to do is trust him, being proud of him and giving him all the help you can.

“ _I can fail_ ”.

His wife's voice made its way in his silence.

– Accept the fact that he has hundreds of chances more than anybody else. That he wants to honor his District, as it should be.

“ _There is nothing right, there is no glory and there is no honor. Only a farce that I tried to make up for during my entire life_ ”.

And he would have never welcomed that destiny. Ever.

– Let's presume... – he started, but then he stopped. Just feeding that hope in such a vague and bitter way was scratching his heart, but he forced himself to continue – Let's presume... he'll win. What will happen to him then? What about his sleep, what about his _conscience_?

She shook her head, with a new-found, strange smile.

– Even this one is an old story. You're inclined to forget that he's not as sentimental as you are – she replied, with that seductive, cold mockery which once had been fun, charming, a balm in a life too heavy for his shoulders. In that moment, though, it just felt unbearable.

He got up to his feet.

– I'm going to talk with him.

She turned serious again and exhaled the deepest of sighs, starting to get up herself, but then she remembered she had to extinguish the cigarette in the ashtray.

– Don't wake him up if he's sleeping – she warned him, when he was already on the doorway of the hallway which led to the bedrooms.

He didn't know if he was going to follow the advice. He didn't even have any idea about what he was going to do or say: he had already been trying for years. He had been repeating his reasons every single time the matter had infiltrated between them; maybe his worst mistake had been underestimating the intentions of a twelve-year-old child with such gentle features, who, as many other boys, had grown all at once – from one spring to the following, a kid and then a warrior, leaving his father astonished and distraught, the apprehension heavier and heavier, the decision closer and closer.

If only he had been a coward, or crippled. If only after trying to use a word he had revealed no talent, if he had had endurance problems, or even only a single, irrational phobia.

“ _If only, if only. It is no use. Quit_ ”.

But quitting was not easy. There were still thousands of _if only-s_ and they were all in front of his eyes: parents with singular qualities – boldness, might, pride, cynicism –, a more comfortable life than the one many other children had, even considering the average wealth in District One; a regime of hatred and violence, absurd speeches of glory, a model too high to be matched right in front of him... if only, if only. If only everything hadn't been the way it was. How skillful and ingenious the hands of fate could be.

But Taisho, insofar as the future looked black, insofar as the events had always tried to crush him since he was seventeen, remained the kind of man able not to indulge in dispair and to fight till the edge of what was possible. He didn't feel stubborn, nor a dreamer or an idealist: nature had just given him strength. He had tasted failure more than once, but only when it hadn't relied only on him. It was helpful to remember that, in front of that ever-closed door.

He still had no speech to recite and his lips were dry, but he knocked, quite softly.

He waited for many long seconds. The choice between insist or let him sleep began to loom.

– Come in.

He heard him only because he was listening closely; even if the sound got to him smothered, he could guess that the tone was not sleepy, but though bereft of enthusiasm. Suppressing a sigh – he hadn't expected anything different –, he lowered the handle and got in.

The room was tidy, as usual. The lamp on the bedside table was on and Sesshoumaru was sitting against a pillow standing against the headboard of the bed, his legs covered by the sheets and a semi-open book in his hands. He turned to stare at him, a totally impassible look on his face; only his eyes said that the visit wasn't welcome, but neither unexpected.

– Hey – was the first thing that Taisho could say, sounding too dour even for his own ears. He slightly turned to close the door behind him, but when he looked back to his son he forced himself to try to be jaunty, to look just like a father for a time that could have been the last one. Roughing out a smile was an effort, and he knew he couldn't conceal his perturbation, but it was the best he could do.

Sesshoumaru had answered with a slight nod, folding a corner of the book as a mark and then closing it. He kept it resting on his thighs and Taisho found himself watching it: a quite thick volume that he couldn't read the title of, yet it seemed in perfect conditions, as though just printed.

– Is it new? – he asked pointing at it, with all the naturalness he was capable of. Sesshoumaru didn't change his expression, but nodded.

– I've bought it this morning.

Taisho crossed his arms on his chest, even more uncomfortable. The peculiar circumstances caused him to notice that the mark could be at more or less thirty, forty pages from the beginning of the book: a little detail that worried him. But he forced himself to smile again, to joke, even. He didn't know what else to say, nor how to start talking otherwise.

– Maybe, you know, you should stay home to finish it – he said, and his voice cracked despite his attempt to keep it calm, or even playful – I don't think they would let you take it with you.

Sesshoumaru didn't seem to appreciate the joke that in the end wasn't really even such. His look became colder.

– I know – he answered in a low voice, keeping himself detached much better than him– I will finish it when I come back.

The certainty in those words was like a punch right in the chest: every trace of smile faded and Taisho knew that for an instant all his heartache must have passed on his face, before he made one of his hands going over his tighten lips and his chin trying to recompose. When he stared at his son again, he didn't pretend to hide the sadness in his look anymore – and Sesshoumaru lowered his eyes. Never as in that instant he had seemed just a boy, one who perhaps had argued with his parents for commonplace reasons, because he had refused to wash the dishes, or to tidy up his clothes in the closet, and who didn't intend to make peace, not yet.

“ _If only_ ”.

He was so young. He was his son.

He went one uncertain step forward, then he pointed to the edge of the bed with a casual gesture.

– May I?

Sesshoumaru glared at him with an indecipherable look, but then, returning to stare at the book, he nodded. Again, only a teenager closed as many others, but with his anger cooled down enough to accept that his father would sit by his side, that he would reach for his arm with a hand in a frail, precious touch of affection. Yes, Sesshoumaru accepted those actions – he looked at the fingers which had risked that tepid caress and didn't even seem to resent it –, but it was time to stop daydreaming: the point wasn't resolving a silly argument. The point was saving his life, saving him from himself.

He would have liked to start talking at once in a calm, sedate, secure voice, without being brusque; instead he let the silence lapse, looking at that handsome, pale, distant face, at the features that he had loved for eighteen years. The thought of risking to loose him was so painful that clinging to the present was the only remedy. Eventually, those golden eyes identical to his, kept low and restless all that time, raised and glared at him outright. It was incredible the way Sesshoumaru could look so far and detached from any emotion, yet at the same time also speak with that still glance of his: “ _Tell me the things I know you want to say, it's useless to keep waiting_ ”.

He ripped his father a sigh. Any word had already been used. He felt empty, but he forced himself to talk.

– You must not do it.

His son's expression became more tired, or maybe bored. He reminded him more than vividly of his wife's, that sort of indolent exasperation after months of the same admonishments, but with the difference that Sesshoumaru didn't seem feeling like wasting his energy with an answer. He almost reopened his book. Taisho felt the wound in his heart tearing apart a little more, but it was too early to surrender: when he kept talking, his voice was clearer.

– Do you think I'm pathetic? – he asked, with enough severity to make Sesshoumaru's eyes raise again almost at once, somehow lit by a gleam of interest. Taisho knew he had taken the right step: he was bearing that glance firmly, and he could see his son's forehead frown a tiny bit, while the boy seemed to ponder and study him at the same time.

– No – he answered eventually, wary – Not pathetic.

– Then what? – he asked again, going back to a softer tone. It still wasn't the time to feel angry, and he hoped that moment would never come.

Sesshoumaru kept staring at him in the same way, thinking. He couldn't hide some hints of indecision, incertitude, but in the end he found the words.

– I just believe that you are mistaken – he said quietly, lowering his eyes, but this didn't cause him to look timid or sheepish, just thoughtful – That you are too scared. You know it.

Taisho took a deep breath. Yes, he did.

– Our usual chat that brings us to rage, banging our heads against brick walls – he commented, leaving room to bitterness – I am too scared, you are not enough, and so we go.

– I don't have...

– Any reason to be, yeah – he interrupted that attempted short reply in a similar sharp way, but then he sighed. He resumed talking with more sadness, getting ready to face facts which it was arrowing just to think about – You are unwavering till the very end. There is only one thing that you don't want to understand... you _can_ die.

Sesshoumaru's look became as keen as a blade, his eyebrows frowned.

– The point is that you are _sure_ I _will._

Disdain, umbrage, a cold and arrogant irritation – not a whimper, not a single shade of disappointment or discouragement, no pleas to be reassured: only a gelid concrete fact. For a moment, just a moment, Taisho wondered if he was right, but then he shook his head.

– No, Sesshoumaru – he talked back resolutely – It is not. The point is that we can't be sure of anything and that the game should not even start. It's not worth it. You don't _need_ it.

– Don't I – he replied, a bit of sarcasm in his low voice which made it feel like pure ice – And you know better, don't you?

Taisho realized the aim to hurt him, to bite him underneath those words, but he only felt an astonished sense of tepid hope. He took it with his shaking hands, fearing it could break like glass.

Actually, feeding it and not letting it crash at once was insane, because the path that seemed to have just been opened was a dead end in which he had already got himself stuck in the past: the right questions would have solved everything, but he couldn't risk to ask. So many times he had tried to extort the real reason of that foolish, incomprehensible wish, underneath the rubbish about the good of the District and Capitol's cruel mentality; he also wasn't such a witless or distant father not to have a thousand hypothesis, and a lot of them were plausible, but Sesshoumaru hadn't ever confirmed nor denied any of them. The key was in his pride, in that closed and haughty heart of his, in a son's iron decision not to admit anything in front of his father and neither in front of his mother, who had never insisted enough. It had been an infinite time – centuries, perhaps? – since the last time Sesshoimaru himself had alluded to it: could that have been considered a breach? Had it been worth it waiting till that night, withstanding and insisting? But what was to do now not to commit the umpteenth mistake?

The densest and tensest silence in that night was pressing onto his ears. Sesshoumaru wasn't looking at him and his face had become again similar to his one at the beginning of the conversation, with that faint tiredness which in that moment looked like a back down. Taisho realized that he was holding his own breath, waiting for the ice wall to crumble – he felt like the words were wafting there, in his son's chest, like he could stretch out a hand and grab them, but he wasn't quick enough to read them. He needed to hear them, but Sesshoumaru's lips were closed and second by second the illusion faded, the light burnt out: that boy was too used to silence, to guard with jealousy the thorniest thoughts that could have harmed his pride and his ego, to melt so easily. If at the beginning he had seemed to be even vulnerable, now he must have already tamed every odd impulse suddenly arisen within him: instant after instant, calm and resolution came back on his face, until the opportunity was missed.

Taisho understood that he had let it slip away without acting, yet he hadn't had any real choice, and he had to regret his mistake and congratulate to himself for not having made Sesshoumaru get angry at the same time. As always: they were refrains, tedious and frustrating reflections while his son was there, his warm legs under the sheets softly heating his hip, close enough to be hugged, yet with a simply unattainable heart. Taisho's mind was exhausted: the alternating of expectations and letdowns, euphoria and failure was the most wearing feeling that could exist for a human soul, and he had already stood too long.

It was over. For the umpteenth time. And so he had nothing left to lose, at least in that fight.

– I will tell you what I think I know – he started eventually, when every thread of hope was to be considered tired – If you want to show something to the world, just know that it has many other concerns. You shouldn't feel its breath on your neck, it only knows you exist and “you're fine”, because I tell them. If it's for the people who know you, or for your mother, know that there's nothing humiliating in not going down into the Arena. If it's for me... the way you can actually make me proud is giving up. And if instead it is for yourself, Sesshoumaru, the Games are not the path to achieve a dream. A life of dignity and peace is the most difficult to find in this place and it's the highest honor you can aspire to. Let a Victor tell you.

Insofar as before Sesshoumaru hadn't said to consider him weak or a coward, he couldn't hide the veil of contempt which flew across his eyes while he was listening to those words. It was clear by now that there was something too settled and sweltering within him for such a sentimental, simple and human speech could persuade him – and that, for a father, was maybe the most parching source of pain.

How afar had they lived, if they were at that point?

Sesshoumaru stretched out a hand towards the bedside table to lay the book there, then he straightened again against the pillow, his chin high, his pose dignified.

– I would like to sleep, now – was his only cold reply.

Fate seemed impossible to change, it was terribly obvious by then, yet the thought of getting up from that bed and leaving was inconceivable, knowing he hadn't solved anything. It was an atrocious feeling, being aware and conscious of his own failure, and still keeping trying, and rationality couldn't prevail.

How could he insist? What goddamn card was to be played? Were there any of them left in his hand, or was the deck already worn-out by browsing it over and over?

– Sesshoumaru...

– I said I want to sleep.

In any other discussion, that would have been the moment to react with anger, to make his authority as a father clear, and he wouldn't have hesitated, as it had always happened when, since he was a child, Sesshoumaru had dared giving prickly or brash answers. But that time there was no power that could resist against the rules or the Reaping, against a decision which in the end was only up to the boy: trying to give him orders would have just brought him to a more violent rebellion. Although he didn't know everything about his son, he wasn't such extraneous to him not to be able to forecast his behavior in that specific situation.

Sesshoumaru must have noticed what he was thinking, perhaps because of his gaze, for he forced himself to add a “Please”, even if his attitude was not very humble, nor convinced. A kid reproached by his dad about good manners and politeness. A fresh-new wave of pain and sadness was about to overwhelm Taisho and everything else seemed to be wiped out: before even realizing it he was reaching out toward his son's shoulder, in order to pull him in his arms, on his chest, to embrace him, to let him understand that every single word, every single effort, every single argument had been caused only by the fact that he couldn't in any way prevent himself from loving him – and then everything dissolved in a moderate but resolute knock on the door.

Both of them turned.

– Come in – Sesshoumaru said, after a second of hesitation. Taisho could see how relieved he was by his mother's arrival; she entered the room but stayed by the doorway. Her face was calm and casual, like if that was just a night as any other. She looked at them, then she talked to her husband.

– You really should come to bed – she said, quietly – It's very late. You need to sleep.

Two against one, as usual. Soon they would have dragged him away from the room, or a furious quarrel that he didn't want to face would have erupted. It would have crushed him.

He forced himself to look at Sesshoumaru, who returned the glance and spoke to him in silence.

“ _You heard that? Leave me alone_ ”.

He tightened his lips not to let out the painful sigh that stayed in his chest, torturing him. The hand he had stretched out and then lowered found the heart to squeeze his son's for a split second, and then Taisho got up and started leaving without crossing his eyes anymore.

– Think about what I told you – was the only thing he could add, turning his back on him, before finding himself in a hallway that had never looked that dark. Every step was a stab in his stomach.

– Goodnight, honey – he heard his wife saying.

– Night – Sesshoumaru's voice answered, miles and centuries away, before she left herself and closed the door behind her, as their son had always eagerly required since he had begun to sleep alone, so much time before.

It really seemed a normal night, while his wife girded his waist with her arm and led him to the bedroom; the following morning was a monster with the consistency of a mirage. To make that night not the last one in which Sesshoumaru would have slept in that house, only a few mocking hopes were left: fighting, bleeding, and a ruthless refrain that he couldn't help thinking about.

“ _May the odds be always in our favor_ ”.

 


	2. The Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the visits and kudos and support! I hope you'll like this second chapter, I worked really hard on Sesshomaru's POV. Let me know what you think! Enjoy ^^

The alarm rang at seven o'clock.

Sesshoumaru opened his eyes and turned it off a few moments later; that brief lapse of time was enough to make every single trace of sleepiness disappear from his face. There was nothing extraordinary in this: it happened every morning, in a completely natural way, almost as there was the need to remark his ever-on-alert reflexes. Not even someone like him, anyway, could have masked the fickle tremble that passed through his eyes when a thought stroke him like lightning: _that was the day_.

He got up, a shiver along his limbs that had no connection with the numbness of sleep, which evaporated like fog in the sun. He stretched his neck once and then left the room.

He used the restroom before heading to the kitchen. While he stepped down the stairs he realized he had a weird feeling deep into his bowels, like a barely perceptible, but surely present hold on his stomach. His heart pulsed faster for a couple of beatings.

It was the day, in the end. It really was.

He took a deep breath and his mind cooled off with ease. He didn't even linger on considering how he had exactly felt, the reason for that ephemeral alteration – all that mattered was how much his moment was close, and he would have faced it with his head held well high.

The kitchen had its usual, normal aspect – a look out of the window, and he saw a banal light-blue sky, the flowers in the garden waving lazily in a weak breeze, nobody around. His mother was giving him her back while she was busy on the cookers, like he had seen her a thousand times; a pleasant fragrance of chocolate and caramel hovered in the air.

Unbelievable, what terrific events were just about to happen.

He approached to the pantry moving in silence as always, but his mother chose that moment to turn. Sesshoumaru clearly saw her wince in surprise, but a second later a frank smile was on her lips, already covered with lipstick.

– Good morning, honey – she greeted him, her voice as sweet as sugar.

– Good morning – he replied, almost dully – Is there any coffee?

– It's already made – she answered, pointing to a jug filled with dark liquid next to the cookers, where he couldn't have seen it before – The cream is in the pantry. You can fix your plate with eggs and bacon while I'm working on the pancakes.

Sesshoumaru was somehow affected, because that was without any doubt his favorite breakfast and his mother didn't often lavish herself like that, considered even that insofar as their food supplies were way more abundant than the average it wouldn't have been wise to make every single meal look like a banquet. On the other hand, she couldn't have picked a more appropriate day to spoil him: he was to be away for a while.

She seemed to wink and then turned to take care of the almost ready sweets, without waiting for thanks which would have never come, indeed. For sure a spark of appreciation had transpired from Sesshoumaru's glance, and that was enough, between them.

The boy grabbed the cream and fixed his cup of coffee; he put the eggs and bacon on a plate and sat at the table, starting eating in silence. Soon a tray with chocolate chips pancakes covered with caramel syrup appeared near him, and right after his mother sat next to him with a glass of milk in her hand.

– Your father is upstairs – she said, with a casual attitude – He was almost ready quite a long time ago, actually. He will have to be there early, as usual.

He nodded slightly to show he had heard her and just kept eating. He wasn't annoyed, but he didn't feel like seeing his father, nor speaking of him, either. It would have only got things complicated.

The breakfast passed by mostly in silence, and that was perfect. He enjoyed his mother's company for this reason: neither of them liked pointless chattering; moreover, she looked calm, her manners just a bit more affected than usual, but he could forgive her for that without any problems. He couldn't deny the odd electric feeling that at times went up his own arms, the faint quake any time the word _Reaping_ appeared in his mind, but he was glad she wasn't making a tragedy out of it.

When he was done eating – and feeling downright satisfied –, he put the plates he had used in the sink, the more neatly he could.

– I'm going to get dressed – he said then, his voice plain, heading toward the door. His mother just nodded with a smile.

When he got upstairs, the first thing he saw was his father coming out from the bathroom. The right instant their eyes met, Sesshoumaru felt the muscles on his back stiffen.

Taisho had a tired and dour face. His hair was well-combed in his usual ponytail, his cheeks and chin were shaved and he fitted in his dark blue suit perfectly, but his look was worn-out, more sullen than ever.

After a couple of moments of nervous, frustrated silence, the man took a deep breath closing his eyes; when he looked at Sesshoumaru again, something in his features had changed. They were still mortally serious, but his turmoil had left room for a new kind of odd, exhausted resolution.

– I got a hot bath ready for you. You should find everything you need at hand.

Sesshoumaru's lips slightly opened for the surprise. Every single sliver of him had set on the defensive as soon as the idea of talking with his father that morning had transformed into concrete reality; he almost could have perceived his calm turning into ice in his chest, ready to answer back rudely at the first wrong word, because he couldn't bear those pointless conversations anymore, not even that day. Instead, Taisho had spoken almost with kindness, and seemed to have done something accommodating and paternal for him, much like his mother in the kitchen. The difference between expectations and reality was so clear and sudden that for a second Sesshoumaru remained hesitant about how to act, caught unprepared; nevertheless, he would have never let himself hang in the balance for too long: the situation was unexpected and stunning, but he composed himself and moved toward his father looking him in the eye. It was impossible to clearly read something into his glance: there was sadness, but somehow it was cold. There was affection, but it was bitter.

He stopped in front of him, more rigid than he should have been. Their looks hadn't left each other yet.

– Thanks – he said, in a low voice, in order not to break up too abruptly the heavy silence in the hallway. He knew things were different with his father. And somehow he respected him because of this.

Taisho nodded, but didn't move away to let him enter the bathroom. He seemed to cloud and ponder for a moment, but soon he looked at him again with the same unusual expression.

– Come with me for a second.

He touched his arm as to highlight his own urging and turned his back on him, moving some steps toward the bedrooms.

Sesshoumaru felt a familiar irritation rising in his chest – he was almost about to call himself a fool for believing he could have been able to avoid the unavoidable, but then his father looked back at him. Again, that somehow resigned and grave expression on his face, which seemed to whisper that no, they weren't going to play that farce anew, they were both too tired for that. He glanced back frowning. Eventually he set up his mind.

“ _Don't make me regret this_ ”.

His father understood, because he turned again in the exact moment when Sesshoumaru moved to follow him. If the situation had become wearying, he would have been ready to leave without a word, but for now...

Taisho took him to his own bedroom. He stopped right beyond the doorstep, leaving him some space to get in, and once they were side by side he reached for the coat rack next to the door. There, on a hanger, there was a formal suit. Taisho touched one of the sleeves and started talking.

– When you're done – he said softly, like trying to weigh up every word – I'd like... I'd like you to wear this. It should fit you. It's not my best suit, I have got newer, more refined and more elegant ones, but... it is the one I was wearing that day.

Sesshoumaru understood at once what he was referring to.

He observed the suit: it was in fine conditions, but it was actually clear that it wasn't new or one-of-a-kind. The gray cloth looked a bit discolored. Then his eyes noticed a couple of cufflinks on the wrist: those _were_ the best his father owned, he recognized them. Taisho didn't seem inclined to mention them.

Sesshoumaru went back to look him in the eye. He wondered why he had made that request: pure sentimentalism, or... or was his Mentor beginning to play? Which effect would that suit have had on Capitol City? It was unlikely that somebody remembered it, but for sure they would have transmitted the video of his father's Reaping, so many years ago, to enrich the show in one of its empty moments, and then they would have noticed...

Anyway, the idea to refuse didn't even come close. He simply felt underneath his skin that a no was totally inconceivable, intolerable – he wasn't that detached from his father. Because he was _his father_ , after all. He would have had thousands of opportunities to flaunt high fashion masterpieces in the future, and he knew he was attractive and elegant enough by himself.

– I will – he muttered, nodding slightly.

A flash of surprise, relief and gratitude passed through Taisho's golden eyes.

– Good – was his rapid answer, even if it was unnecessary. Almost awkward, after so much tension.

Sesshoumaru knew that a even more unpleasant silence was to come right afterward, and so he reached out to take the suit from the coat rack. Once he had it in his arms he addressed his father with another gesture of thanks, hesitated for a moment, and then left the room. He had the feeling that the other wanted to hold him back, but he didn't stop and entered the bathroom.

He wouldn't have let any stupid word ruin that moment; they would have met each other soon anyway, on the stage. As Mentor and new Tribute.

 

The temperature of the water was perfect.

Sesshoumaru kept an eye on the clock on the wall, because missing the ceremony or even just getting there out of breath weren't options to be considered, but having already planned to wash himself with care he eventually found it pleasant to relax in that warm embrace. The tension accumulated in his muscles during the minutes spent with his father seemed to melt, and the boy clawed back his cold calm. The prelude to the Hunger Games was about to begin in a couple of hours, yet his mind was completely lucid: lingering in that bath didn't bring him to any particular heartfelt reflection. His decision had been taken a long time before and there wasn't even any ideal to nurture.

It was almost a pity to leave that appreciated gift from his father, but soon he had to start getting ready. Actually, it wasn't a long process: he hadn't ever needed much time or specific tricks to appear nearly perfect, and he knew that. Somebody could have called him presumptuous, but he was rather sure that was the wrong term to describe him: he was simply aware of reality, nothing more, and he would have considered it way more vain if he would have stood in front of the mirror for hours. All he felt he needed to do that morning was brushing a couple of times his long hair, which didn't have any knots anyway; then he put on his father's suit, being careful that nothing was out of place, but both the jacket and the trousers seemed to have being sewed right on him – not too tight, not too loose, they became him, even, underlining his tall and thin figure. It was around nine o'clock when he was ready to go back downstairs.

At the bottom of the stairs he came across his mother, who on the contrary must have had the intention to go up to the first floor right then. As soon as she saw him, her eyes had a jolt of surprise, but her expression turned quickly into a strange smile that Sesshoumaru, though, knew well – not stupid, frivolous, exaggerated or too passionate, somehow stilted, but at the same time not insincere and not lacking affection.

– Look at you – she said, moving a step toward him and putting her hands on his shoulders, her smile wider – You look gorgeous, honey. So much like him.

No need to ask who she was referring to; those words were pleasant, by the way. A glint of impatience sparked up in his heart – in a brief flash he imagined those exact comments being on the lips of thousands of other people, in such a short time; he thought about the excitement that would have swept across Capitol City at the moment of his entrance on the scene...

His mother placed a hand on one of his cheeks, something amused in her look, almost as if she was guessing his thoughts.

– Go ahead. I'll be there in a few minutes.

Sesshoumaru nodded and spent just another second looking her in the eye before moving away from her, paying attention not to be brusque, and of course she didn't resent him. He got a last glimpse of her catlike and warm smile before walking past her, heading for the door. He heard her going up the stairs while he was leaving.

The day was clear and tepid. The sun was shining high in the sky, but a pleasant breeze prevented the weather from becoming sweltering. The green gardens of the Victors' Village were studded with red and yellow flowers – only four of them, actually: his, Trudy's, Luke's and Veronica's. The other eight mansions were uninhabited and, even if they didn't look in bad conditions, of course nobody was taking care of their grasses or their empty vases. Sesshoumaru was letting his eyes lingering on the scene, thinking that it wasn't to change for another year, when someone left in a great hurry the house right in front of his slamming the door behind her. Obviously, she caught his interest.

He had no problem recognizing the girl. He stopped watching her walking toward the street, with a certain racket, on a pair of not too high, but surely noisy heels; she was trying to lace up a necklace on her nape, without any success, and one of the veils of her short black tulle skirt seemed to be out of place. With quite a colorful imprecation, she arrived on the main road, a couple of steps away from Sesshoumaru, and there she decided to halt and fight against the necklace in more advantageous conditions. She made it rotate around her neck to have the little grapple in front of her, she made it go through a ring on the other extremity of it after four failed attempts and then turned the necklace again, placing it in the right way.

The exuberance of the gestures and the din made the act of putting on a piece of jewelry looking kind of like a sparkling storm. Sesshoumaru frowned a tiny bit.

Trudy raised her eyes and stared at him for the first time. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head to move away from her eyes a tuft of hair as black as her dress.

– Yeah, I wonder why I'm always late too – she announced in a loud and sharp voice. She wasn't smiling, but there was a clear mark of impertinent amusement in her tone – Nice suit, Junior. I'd walk with you, but I have to run like hell. See ya.

With an ample wave of her hand she turned of ninety degrees and left at full gallop, her squat heels clicking on the road, her skirt still out of place. Soon she was actually running.

Sesshoumaru watched the twenty-eighth Victor of the Hunger Games fleeing in a blink of an eye, just like she had arrived.

Usually, when Trudy turned up at their house he closed himself in his bedroom. It wasn't like he was obstinate in avoiding her or he detested her, but things were more simple that way: their characters stood out against each other way too much, even if they hadn't ever had any dispute or conflict. She was a smart girl, though, very attached to his father, and the entire world had seen her killing many boys and girls using a sharp sickle; basically, it wasn't easy for Sesshoumaru to imagine her as his Mentor, considered even that she was only four years older than him, but it wasn't impossible, either. He wasn't worried about it.

With a confident and quick pace, but way more elegant, he set out in the same direction.

The Victors' Village was isolated from the main city, yet the walk wasn't too long. Soon Sesshoumaru met the first buildings – and the first people. The majority of them was heading toward the central square, like him: boys and girls, mostly, some holding the hands of younger kids. Even many adults, anyway, seemed busy around their shops lowering shutters and locking doors, without any doubts with the intention to go and see the ceremony.

There was a natural murmuring along the streets and the atmosphere was quite electric, but this didn't prevent Sesshoumaru from notice the whispers caused specifically by his own presence. The more the flow of people became denser, the more often he got his eyes on a stranger for a chance and caught him or her staring at him – most of all it was girls, who turned away as soon as uncovered, too quickly to make it look like an accidental action; but more or less everybody murmured a comment to who was next to them. Sesshoumaru heard the words “Taisho”, “son”, and “volunteer” several times. As for him, his face didn't even changed slightly: he went on walking with calm, his back straight and his chin high, but giving out the feeling he was ignoring everyone and everything, neither bothered nor pleased. He was used to cause that effect on people, actually; it always used to happen at school, especially the female gender part. He knew he deserved attention and admiration without needing to ask it or thank for it.

He was just a couple of roads away from his destination, when a shrill acute voice made its way over the others.

– Sesshoumaru! Hey!

He didn't roll his eyes, nor frowned, nor smiled, nor seemed surprised: he remained totally impassive, but slowed his pace a bit – and who had called him somehow managed to sneak through the crowd and arrived at his side. Sesshoumaru barely looked at him.

– Sesshoumaru! I can't believe this is the day, I can't wait to see you on the stage!

– Don't yell, Jaken – he admonished him, his tone flat, almost bored.

– Sorry – the kid answered quickly, somewhere around his waist – I'm just so excited for you, it's incredible that at my first Reaping something so amazing is gonna happen... you are still going, right? You didn't change your mind, right?

Sesshoumaru lowered his gaze for the first time, directing it on the child at his heels. Skinny, with his hair a bit oily and ruffled, Jaken was less dirty than usual, but it was still possible to guess that his family was among the poorest of the District. He was staring at him with his too big, widened eyes, with a mix of veneration and fear, hanging off his words. He hadn't managed to hide the faint shade of cowardice in his voice, but considering that without a male Volunteer he could have ended up being into the Hunger Games at age twelve and that he should have placed all of his hopes in Sesshoumaru for this not to happen, it was comprehensible. Not that the enthusiasm and the worship in his words had sounded fake, anyway.

– No – Sesshoumaru answered, his tone cold, but somehow softer than usual – I will do it.

– I knew it! – Jaken exclaimed, almost skipping with excitement, while the older boy diverted his eyes again – It's such a honor to me to be present at it, and everybody just keeps speaking of you! Oh, you sure will win. No one is stronger than you. I'm so looking forward to see you fighting. And the Opening Ceremony, how do you think they'll dress you up? White and gold, I guess. Not to speak of the award ceremony...

Sesshoumaru let that flow of words slide on himself without paying it much attention, but it wasn't something he would have called unpleasant. He was drawing on himself more comments and looks than ever, many of them inquiring, because of his funny little escort, but he didn't care.

Almost everybody used to have trouble speaking with him given his icy character, and usually the fear increased while the age and the social class of the other person decreased, but the truth, for how incredible could it seem even to him, was that Sesshoumaru liked children. Jaken was actually twelve years old, but he was so little and infantile that the real age didn't count; he had had enough guts to talk with him once some years before and having survived the experience he had declared him his own hero and had begun hanging around him as much as he could. That was it.

Even Jaken's adulating and excited chatter stopped, anyway, when finally they got to the city's main square.

A pleasant shiver ran along Sesshoumaru's back as he saw the stage, the cameras, the microphones. The square had been divided in two parts and was crowded with teenagers, males on one side, females on the other. The adults were looking for a good spot on the edges. He had seen the same scene every year since he had memory, but that time the taste was so different. The atmosphere was nervous, but not too much; the girls looked more unsettled and worried that usual, but Sesshoumaru didn't give it much thought. He didn't have tight bonds with any of them.

Once they were inside the enclosure where all the other potential Tributes were gathered, the moment came for Jaken to leave him and join his equal in age.

– It will be magnificent – was the kid's last, smiling goodbye, before he trotted away on his little crooked legs. Sesshoumaru looked at him with what could have been leniency. The words may have been banal, but he was sure they would have turned into truth.

He took the place next to Chris Ryke.

– Hey – the boy greeted him, with a courteous smile – Here we are, in the end. Still certain?

Sesshoumaru nodded, but didn't show any other sign he had listened to him. He heard him repressing a half laughter and ignored him again. They had known each other for years because of the school and most of all because of the trainings – even the best fighter needed a partner to perfect his own skills –, but they were way far from the normal concept of friendship; to tell the truth, this was the description of more or less all the relationships Sesshoumaru had in the District. Chris was fine, though. He had understood quickly how serious the other's intentions about the Games were, and he had assured him that he wouldn't have tried to steal the position of Volunteer from him: Sesshoumaru was the strongest and most capable eighteen-year-old around, there was no way to deny it. His chances to win were, in everybody's opinion, almost ridiculously high – and having him as an enemy, in any context, wouldn't have been wise.

It should have been twelve to ten at most, by then. Except for some latecomers, the young potential Tributes were all in the square – a really considerable crowd even without counting the adults who were there just to attend. Sesshoumaru saw his father sitting upstage right, straight and elegant; he managed to communicate an idea of charisma and charm even from that distance. Trudy and Luke were on his sides and seemed to converse quietly; Veronica was sitting next to Luke in silence, her eyes low, arms and legs crossed. All four of them showed a more serious expression than they had during the other Reapings Sesshoumaru had participated in. The reason was quite clear, but this did nothing but cause him to feel a slight annoyance.

He wasn't going to vacillate, not at the very last.

The escort from Capitol City had been assigned to District 1 that year for the first time and seemed quite excited about it, judging from the constant movements of her high thin heels and from the struggle she seemed to be facing to stay still talking with the mayor. Under her ridiculous hat decorated with rainbow plumes and the one-inch-thick make-up, it was possible to sense she had a natural appearance pretty enough to earn her her replacement from District 7, but nobody really cared: those women where all the same and Ginger Grant wasn't going to be an exception. Sesshoumaru knew her name and her happenings only because of his father. He was quite sure that she wasn't going to be the main reason for the ceremony to be memorable.

The cameras were all in their right spots, ready to record. Here and there the crowd was studded with Peacekeepers, dressed in black and with their weapons on their shoulders. When the mayor – a balding, but distinguished and elegant man – got up to approach the microphone at the center of the stage, the general murmuring in the square fell silent. The speech was the same every year: the history of Panem, from its birth to the Dark Days, the rules of the Hunger Games, the description of the honor and the riches that the Victor was to receive. Sesshoumaru knew it almost by heart; he just half-listened, while a pleasant, electric tension began to grow along his spine. He squeezed his fists and repressed a deep breath, right when the mayor read the first of the names of the previous Victors from District 1: Hyou Taisho. To follow, Veronica Shyffer, Josh Mirrow, Luke Silverhand, Trudy Callahan. Josh had died ten years before. Morphling overdose. Sesshoumaru was only eight years old, but he remembered well the shock his father had lived; even then, however, despite he never said that, he hadn't understood that sort of suicide. Officially, Josh had never been able to get over the nightmares caused by his experience in the Hunger Games. Quite pointless and stupid, he could take the liberty to think now.

The mayor introduced Ginger, who got up and toddled to the microphone with a smile all lipstick and dazzling teeth on her face. Among the boys, who looked all rather relaxed, some half-laughs rose. The girls were mostly deadly serious.

– Happy Hunger Games! – Ginger trilled, full with enthusiasm – And may the odds be always in your favor! It is a honor for me to attend to this magnificent ceremony, in your splendid District, together with such professional and courteous people...

She addressed a shining smile towards the mayor and the Victors – maybe Taisho particularly. There were a couple of thanking waves, but nobody got even close to match her in euphoria.

– Very well, it's now the moment of the draw! Ladies first!

The heels toddled to one of the two huge glass balls full of paper slips: the names of every single girl twelve through eighteen in the District. Sesshoumaru couldn't keep himself from watching with interest and a pinch of impatience the escort while she went back to the microphone, smoothed the piece of paper she had picked from the ball and cleared her voice.

– Abi Karasu!

Sesshoumaru frowned slightly. If he wasn't wrong, he knew her.

She was a girl the same age of him, who had sometimes trained with him. She and a couple of her friends used to frequent the gym regularly, but since the rumors of Sesshomaru's plans had begun to spread they had stopped to have those little skirmishes about which one of the three should have volunteered at the Reaping, which he had found so annoying.

Most of the girls had turned to look to the last rows in the enclosure, trying to see the one who had been drawn. After some seconds of whispering and tension, Sesshoumaru saw Abi moving a step forward and starting making her way through the crowd, or better, he got a quick view of her tall and slender figure and of her thick, dark hair, long to her waist.

An infinite time seemed to pass before she arrived to the stage and stepped on it; she was wearing a simple but elegant green dress that faded in front of Ginger's bright red skirt and jacket.

– Very well, darling, very well!

The escort grabbed one of her arms and took her right in the middle of the scene, where Abi stood straight and with her head high, but too stiff. Her fists were tightened.

– Are there any volunteers?

Her two dear, trusty little friends didn't say a word; actually, on the square fell the silence. Abi didn't move by an inch while the seconds passed by. The boys didn't smile, despite everything.

– Very well! – Ginger repeated for the umpteenth time, merrier than ever. She was beginning to be really annoying – Let's come to the gentlemen!

“ _So she's the one who will go with me_ ” was the thought that for a mere instant occupied Sesshoumaru's mind. His first adversary. She wasn't bad with knives, but she had no chance against him. Nothing to be worried about.

Instead, while Ginger was approaching to the boys' ball he followed her with his gaze. The atmosphere had turned more relaxed again; some of the boys turned to look at him and winked. He ignored them, feeling, on the contrary, the tension tightening in his bowels. Ginger fished a slip and went back to the microphone.

– Adam Fall!

Sesshoumaru had no memory of that name. There was some turmoil somewhere in front of him before a blond, fifteen-year-old boy showed up under the stage. Ginger smiled at him while escorting him to Abi's side; she didn't even look at him. He seemed nervous, as like he was in a real big hurry to leave that place.

Sesshoumaru's heart hastened its beat without he could do anything to avoid it.

– Wonderful! – Ginger twittered – Are there any volunteers?

For an instant as long as a winter, complete stillness reigned.

The moment.

 

“ _You must not do it_ ”.

 

Blood pulsed in his ears.

– Me – he heard his own voice say, loud and clear – I volunteer as a Tribute.

Someone held their breath, someone let an exclamation slip out, many boys snickered. Chris gave him a light pat on his back with a big smile – “ _Go and win, champ_ ”, he thought he heard him saying, but in that moment he was already moving a step forward. The young men made room for him like they would have for a prince, and like a prince he walked towards the stage, with that confident but not too fast pace of his, his head high, his face like ice – his heart still trembling, but not a single gesture betrayed him.

He could feel the gelid, perfect pleasure of adrenaline down in the deep of his being.

He shot an arrogant gaze to the officer that had approached to escort him, a man in black way more massive than him, and he kept the right distance. The drawn kid came towards him with a huge grin filled with relief, but Sesshoumaru passed by feeling almost disgust.

He was born for that moment. He was born for the Hunger Games. He had never felt so cold and so alive, everybody's eyes on him, the cameras pointed to his face.

He got on the stage.

Walking towards Ginger and the microphone, he had to pass in front of the Victors; he couldn't help but looking at them, even if just for a couple of seconds.

Veronica's gaze was low, but she rose it to meet his. All she showed was an impenetrable sadness, a reproach that was bitter and at the same time lacking resentment. Trudy had one of Taisho's hands held tight among hers, while Luke had an arm around the man's shoulders; there was something sarcastic in their resigned and sullen glances: “ _Good job, Junior_ ”.

And at last Sesshoumaru met his father's eyes.

His pain was as hard as stone. There was no room for any other emotion. The features were tense, but put together for the cameras; only his shoulders' stiffness had given up, bringing him to bend slightly forward, even if it wasn't easy to notice among the gestures of comfort from his younger friends. Sesshoumaru saw it, though.

He didn't change his expression. That gaze was like a clear cut on his chest's surface – enough to make him slow down, not to stop him. His father would have understood eventually.

Ginger was greeting him, taking him arm in arm. She drove him to the microphone and he didn't get perturbed.

– Very well, very well – she twittered to the crowd that hadn't ceased murmuring and rumoring – Such a gorgeous young man, for sure... Will you tell us your name, honey?

A veteran of the District would have known that there was no need of that, but Sesshomaru didn't resent her. He was ready to erase all doubts.

He came a little closer to the microphone and spoke in a firm voice.

– Sesshoumaru Taisho.

The words echoed for an instant and the crowd became more agitated and noisier. Many girls, passed the dread of being drawn, seemed to sigh or complain; somebody dared a faint applause. There was the flash of some cameras, clicks like some of them were trying to get closer.

Even Ginger stared at him with her eyes wide with surprise.

– Taisho? – she repeated, floored – Just like...? Is it possible that...?

She looked at the Victors, than at him, more than once. Sesshoumaru saw that under the cameras attention Trudy and Luke had pulled back, while his father had forced a kind and strained smile to appear on his face; he caught the sight of him giving a hint of a gesture of approval.

– Of course! – Ginger exclaimed, all thrilled – Sweet heavens, how could I not realize it before... father and son, it can't be any other way!

The turmoil did nothing but grow. By then some cameramen had arrived under the stage. Ginger was still euphoric.

– This is... splendid! – she exulted, her eyes glittering, almost overwhelmed by joy – Utterly splendid! So touching! Such a honor... here, honey, come here... oh, you are the _pride_ of this District...

The mayor did his best to read the Treaty of Treason as requested, but nobody cared about it: all cameras and gazes were pointed to one single person, nobody could help talking with their neighbor – nobody seemed to remember Abi, nobody was interested in anything that wasn't Sesshoumaru. Exactly as he had foreseen.

At the end of the Treaty Ginger demanded that the Tributes held their hands: both of them were wise enough to obey without complaining, and they even lifted their laced fingers up, just like Capitol City liked it. While the Anthem of Panem resounded in the square, young and adult people exploded in an enthusiastic applause, and Sesshoumaru let his eyes run over them, his head high, a warm, suffused satisfaction in his chest.

 

Soon the crowd began dispersing. Sesshoumaru lowered his arm and got his hand free; instinctively he tried to look at his father, but right in that moment he got up from his chair and turned his back on him to leave, without giving him even the slightest glance. Trudy and the others did the same, following him while he was getting off the stage.

Sesshoumaru was about to set forth himself, but somebody grabbed his wrist bringing him to turn the other way. He was now face to face with Abi.

Even though she was quite tall, the girl was still shorter than him, but this didn't prevent her mahogany eyes from burning with unmistakable, pure hatred. She was attractive, but her face was reduced to a mask of anger.

– I wanted to volunteer before you decided to step in my way – she hissed, as she was wishing to kill him with the bare strength of those words – Seems like I'm here anyway. But I've never quit training, and you and your daddy will have a lot to regret when we'll be in the Arena and I'll open your throat in two, you goddamn _asshole_.

Sesshoumaru didn't even blink. He understood the reasons for such fury, but this didn't mean that he cared or, even less, that he was scared. Abi kept staring at him with flaming eyes, her lips sealed, but clearly waiting for an answer. He rose his eyebrows just of a couple of millimeters.

– Are you done?

He didn't bother to mask his disdain with redundant sarcasm. In that moment he had more important things to think about than those heated, empty threats.

It was like he had slapped her: he saw her holding her breath while her rage got filled with such astonishment and indignation, to color her cheeks with red. For some seconds he watched her struggling, searching for an answer – the harshest insult or the cruelest threat she could come up with –, but when he was sure she wasn't going to find it he turned his back on her and didn't care about her anymore.

Thinking of flooring him with a couple of biting little sentences... to get to worry him even just vaguely, she was going to need to apply herself way more.

Some Peacekeepers came to him and positioned themselves at his sides to escort him to the Justice Building. They didn't bother, or maybe didn't dare to take his arms, but they were useful to keep the cameras from getting too close and assault him, while the people of the District were still pointing at him and trying to swipe a last glance to his flesh and blood figure. Later there would have been all the time to bath into crowds and to be in the spotlights, but the one right after the Reaping was officially the moment of privacy and discretion for the Tributes before their journey to Capitol – even for the ones who didn't really need it.

Arrived to the Justice Building – an elegant, well-kept edifice –, he was led into a small room without any windows and furnished with good taste: a couple of sofas with velvet pillows, some minute wooden table, fresh flowers in glass vases.

– We will start letting your friends and relatives in soon – one of the Peacekeepers informed him – Meanwhile, you will wait here. You'll have one hour of time, not a minute more.

Sesshoumaru knew it, of course. An hour seemed even too long. The guards gave him a nod of furlough and then left, closing the door behind them.

Several minutes could have passed before somebody else turned up again, so Sesshoumaru set on one of the couches, his back straight as always, his hands on his knees.

In the complete silence and the absolute solitude of the room, far from the crowd's noises and from the whirling of the events even if just for a short time, finally reality hit him in its entirety and got a hold on him: _he was going to participate to the Hunger Games_. It wasn't a dream anymore, yet a concrete fact. There was no going back, nor for him and neither for his father.

His father. He wondered what he was thinking or doing in that instant. He was going to need to put aside his feelings and play, and Sesshoumaru was sure he would do it. He didn't hope to be forgiven or understood, not yet, but Taisho was a seasoned, extraordinary Mentor. He hadn't had any help to win nor to teach to win, but for a long time every year at least one of his Tributes had always arrived among the last eight survivors even thanks to the aid of the sponsors, if not both of them. And Sesshoumaru was his son. He knew he was strong enough to be able to succeed even without him, sure, but the advantages were undeniable.

The interviews, the trainings, the other Tributes, the Gamemakers... not blurry ideas anymore, but reality, he kept thinking. He was going down into the Arena. He was to fight and kill.

His mind was lucid and cold. He was ready.

He was to be part of the Hunger Games. And he was to win.

 

He hadn't wasted his time cherishing any specific expectations about that hour of goodbyes, but one thing was for sure: its beginning was way far from any idea he could have formulated.

After maybe ten minutes of wait, the door opened and a girl appeared – a perfect stranger.

Sesshoumaru barely managed to record her cheeks reddened by embarrassment before she started talking.

– I... wish... I-I... – she stammered – Just... you're beautiful. G-good luck.

This said, she turned and left in a great hurry. Sesshoumaru had been staying as still as a statue.

He was about to get up from the couch, slightly frowning, when the door spread open again.

Another girl. He might have glimpsed her somewhere at school, but he had no idea...

– Remember me when... – she shouted out, except that she froze under his icy eyes – You... you have always been my dream.

And then she fled. Sesshoumaru could only get up, pretty irritated, when the third girl – a complete stranger again – stepped in, smugger.

– I've always loved you.

She disappeared in a flash too, but this time he moved quickly: he reached the door in the moment it was opening again, finding himself face to face with a teenager, who seemed to turn to stone on the spot, and one of the Peacekeepers.

That was it.

– I would be glad if you let in only the people who I _actually_ know – he announced, with his iciest voice and his most haughty expression – I do not have a girlfriend. Nor something similar.

Judging from the resolved nod of approval of the guard, who appeared as annoyed as him, he had been eloquent enough. He turned and went back to the center of the room, standing, his arms crossed on his chest.

He didn't even know if the most irritating thing had been the absolute nonsense the girls had said, or the subtle implication in their looks and their act that he was meant to die very soon. Which wasn't going to happen.

He had to wait again, while probably all his silly admirers were being sent away, before something new occurred: the door opened again and what he saw was a skeptical Peacekeeper holding a kid by his greasy collar.

– He swears he knows you – the man grumbled, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

– It's the truth! – Jaken yelled, red with frustration, and then addressed him with an imploring glance. Sesshoumaru's gaze softened a bit.

– He's fine – he nodded, in a calm tone that nevertheless didn't allow any retort. The Peacekeeper looked surprised, but let go of him and pulled back, while Jaken was hopping, triumphant, into the room.

– Everybody's so insolent, aren't they? – he exclaimed, almost trying to make an impression. Then he stared at him in the eye and a huge smile spread on his little, out of proportions face – You were _amazing_.

Sesshoumaru's mood got better without he could do anything to avoid it. As an answer and thanksgiving he let his features relax enough to assume the vague semblance of a very faint, detached smile, almost impossible to discern. And saying that Jaken was gratified would have been at least reductive.

– It was like watching a king going to his throne – he resumed speaking with renewed enthusiasm – You're so solemn, so awesome! There's no one who's not talking about you out there. But the girl looked mad. Probably she knows she stands no chance against your strength! And your dad will help you alone, your _fate_ is to win. Do you think you'll kill her?

Sesshoumaru's glance cooled back.

– I care about winning – he replied with caution, weighing his words – The circumstances will determine who I'll kill, or how the others will die. But I will not let anybody stay in my way.

Jaken's eyes were twinkling with pure admiration.

– Of course – he answered, almost revering – Nobody could say it better! You're fantastic. You're really everybody's pride. I can't wait to see ya as a Victor, now, I'll watch TV day and night, I won't even sleep!

– I don't know if your parents will appreciate that.

– I don't care – the kid replied, with certainty – You're more important.

“ _This is the inclination my father should have, I guess_ ”.

In front of that little face all confident and excited, he couldn't help reaching out with a hand and giving him a friendly caress on his already ruffled hair.

– Thank you, Jaken – he murmured without getting perturbed, his voice almost flat, but this much sufficed: the child held his breath, overwhelmed, and the following moment he was jumping forward enclosing his waist with his skinny arms and hugging him tight.

It was a little over what Sesshoumaru had predicted, but it didn't bother him. He just touched lightly again his head with his fingers.

– You're the best – Jaken whined, still clutched onto him. Then he seemed to realize he had been a little too impetuous, because he let go and moved suddenly as he had embraced him, his cheeks a bit red. He took a deep breath and then addressed him with a new big smile – Good luck. See you when you're back, right?

A pinch of insecurity and worry was forgivable in a kid.

– Sure.

That answer seemed to make him very proud, but he was good at not exaggerating: he waved his hand, hesitated as like going away required him a great effort, but eventually he turned his back on him and hurried for the door, leaving the room.

Probably Sesshoumaru wasn't to have time to think about him anymore, in the whirlwind of the Games and of everything he was about to face, but that visit hadn't been unpleasant.

The people who arrived next were Chris and a couple of other boys, one year younger than him – all acquaintances to attribute to the trainings. Sesshoumaru was quite surprised, but he was careful not to show it.

The guys were smiling in a relaxed and thoughtless way.

– Snow zap me if that wasn't a good shot, Taisho – one of the two, Marcus, exclaimed – You knocked them out. And without even using a sword, for now!

– I'm jealous to death – the other one, Klaine, commented, passing one of his hands through his dark hair – Just try not to win in a _too_ spectacular way, all right? Or next year I'll make a poor figure.

– Oh, you don't need to worry, man. I, instead, will have to be at least as extraordinary, even if my dad is not the White Tiger...

– Guys, you still have months to discuss this, don't you? – Chris interrupted them, and then gave Sesshoumaru an apologizing smile – We just wanted to wish you the best, champ.

He nodded as a sign of approval, but Klaine had already resumed speaking.

– All the District would come here, if they only could – he said, amused – Well... everybody except Abi's mom, of course.

– Wait, was that her mom? Dude, she looks like her great-grandmother – Marcus interfered, incredulous, and then he turned to Sesshoumaru, who had frowned a little – You have a pissed off old lady as an enemy, just so you know. We've just seen her.

– I would rather keep an eye on the daughter – Chris said back, more serious – Really, watch your back. She's more than ready to stab you. I doubt you'll be able to join forces with her.

– I doubt I will need it – Sesshoumaru replied, totally unimpressed – She is just making her own situation worse.

– That's what I think, too – the other nodded – But pay attention anyway, okay? Don't let your confidence drag you down.

– Oh, give him a break – Marcus interrupted him – His dad will take care of these telling-offs, I bet my head on it.

Sesshoumaru had no choice but to agree. He made a vague gesture of thanksgiving for all three of them, and they looked satisfied with that. They took turns to step forward and pat him on the shoulder, among other words of encouragement, quite simple and predictable, but they didn't sound insincere.

– We all root for you – was Chris's goodbye – Really. Do your best, and the Games are yours.

A few seconds later, Sesshoumaru was alone in the room again – again more content for the visit than he would have supposed, even though his mind was completely calm.

The last person was his mother.

She had dressed up with elegance, just a veil of make-up on her face, and she was more beautiful than he had seen her in a long time. Maybe it should have also been credited to the moved smile and to the gaze full of affection that were lighting up her features with a composed, but deep emotion. When she walked toward him and reached out, without a word, Sesshoumaru didn't have an instant of hesitation: he embraced her with his arms, let her holding him, exchanged the hug. He was taller than her and so he let her press her face on his chest, but at the same time he bend down his head on her shoulder, breathing her scent and closing his eyes for a moment. For the first time in that hour, his heart beat faster.

They stayed still like that for endless seconds, before she sighed and loosened the embrace with tenderness. She put a hand on his cheek, remaining close, looking him right in the eye. There was only pure pride in her gaze.

– Your father is waiting for you on the train, obviously – she said, her voice slightly cracked with emotion, but not too much – He will not be in a good mood, but don't be bitter with him. He will do anything he can in order to help you. Always listen to his advices.

Sesshoumaru nodded without hesitating. He could grasp his mother's faint fears, but he wasn't going to be so foolish to put his own life in danger just to keep a pout on one of his parents. She looked satisfied.

– I could not wish a more wonderful boy as a son. I trust you so much, honey. Be careful, fight the way I know you can fight, and everything is going to be fine. I love you with all my heart.

Those words instilled warmth in his chest. His expression remained cold, but when he spoke it wasn't just to fill up the silence.

– I won't disappoint you. I will be back soon.

His mother's smile widened.

– I know, honey.

They hugged again, tighter than before. Part of Sesshoumaru thought it was pointless, but the other simply couldn't prevent it. She was his mother. He loved her, and he couldn't say goodbye to her without letting her know that, even if it wasn't going to be forever. It wasn't, he repeated to himself, both of them were sure of it. And yet...

It seemed to last like a flash and like a century at the same time. When they separated, his mother got to her tips and kissed him on the cheek with affection; he didn't pull back. Then they looked at each again, saying everything and nothing in the silence. Eventually, she took a deep breath that shook a little in her chest.

– It is almost time for you to go, I suppose – she said, with a calmer voice – Good luck. You are absolutely one-of-a-kind, Sesshoumaru. You have no destiny but greatness. Don't forget.

“ _I won't_ ”.

They held onto each other one last time, and then her arms, her warm hands left him. Watching her going away was almost surreal – it should have been an unique moment, one to be imprinted in his memory, but it slipped through time as any other, leaving behind only the strange recollection of her smile: a few seconds that dissolved in silence.

For an instant – just an instant – a malicious whisper insinuated in his ear.

“ _I could never see her again_ ”.

But he shook his head, irritated towards himself. Coldness regained control on him.

He wasn't going to let it happen.

There was no reason to fear.

He wasn't going to allow himself to lose.

 


	3. Trains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay - final exams in Italy are a bitch. I hope someone will still read this and appreciate it - some new characters appear <3 enjoy!

The car which escorted him to the station had mirror windows, a preventative measure that he found quite pointless and bothersome, since part of his strategy and his success depended on showing himself off and impressing the public the more it was possible. He got the chance to remedy at the station itself, though: it was literally packed with cameras, people and flashes. There wasn't eye, digital or human, which wasn't staring at his face while he was walking to the train. He kept his expression as firm as an ice mask without any effort, and this just drew the general attention on him even more. Soon Abi was at his side, livid with rage; he was careful to always be half a step in front of her, but he didn't really need it: everything he could see on the screen on the walls was his own figure, framed from every point of view – he was the utter protagonist of the show, gorgeous even in his simple suit, perfect for the television without wearing the smaller bit of scenic make-up. The buzz of comments, questions and exclamations grew till it became almost deafening, but once both Sesshoumaru and Abi got on the train its door closed hermetically behind them, cutting out the noise and District 1. They started moving in the same instant.

The journey for Capitol City had begun.

Almost without realizing it he turned towards Abi and met her eyes. Her anger hadn't blended, but before she could say anything Ginger's heels' ticking came at them from their left.

– Oh, here, here they are – the escort twittered, enthusiastic, with a quick glimpse to Abi and a dazzling smile to Sesshoumaru – May you follow me, my dears? Your Mentors want to have a couple of words with you before I show you your rooms, all right? Here, darlings, this way...

As much as being treated in such a frivolous way could be annoying, Sesshoumaru didn't complain: if his father needed to talk with him, he wasn't going to be so arrogant to refuse, so he followed Ginger with Abi along the hallway, which had walls made of perfectly smooth and shiny steel.

In a short time they reached the room that must have been the common space for the meals. Sesshoumaru couldn't help looking around with a bit of interest: he had always lived in a very comfortable house, but that place's splendor was surprising even for him. It seemed like there wasn't any speck of dust in the entire place, not on the precious carpets, nor on the furniture of refined wood, nor on the golden lamps. Metals and less modern materials mixed everywhere, creating an odd effect, but somehow pleasant, harmonious; at the opposite side of the room there were velvet couches in front of an ink-dark television, that was off at that moment.

His father and the other three Victors were standing next to the long dining table. As soon as Ginger, Sesshoumaru and Abi arrived, Taisho turned, his arms tight on his chest, his face serious and tired, but firm. His eyes met his son's, and he didn't look away. It was like the time stopped, but of course that wasn't possible: Trudy, Luke and Veronica placed themselves at his father's sides, while Ginger hurried on the right side of the scene, in the best spot to watch, without taking the trouble to hide how thrilled she was.

Taisho was about to start speaking, but he was interrupted before he had even begun.

– I don't want to have anything to do with you – Abi hissed, with arrogance, her chin high – Nor with your son. If somebody will take the hassle to coach me, I want to do it separately.

Taisho stared at her in silence, studying her, a shadow of sincere sadness on his face.

– I believe you won't complain about the idea I've already got, then – he answered eventually, in a kind tone, but not lacking authority. Or dejection – Luke and Veronica will be your Mentors. He will have me and Trudy.

The thought of refusing didn't get across Sesshoumaru's mind, not even for an instant, and this hadn't anything to do with generosity. It could have seemed like an equitable distribution – for him the best Mentor together with the youngest and least experienced, for Abi the two in the middle –, but he knew very well that it wasn't as balanced as it sounded: Trudy and his father shared a special bond, and she somehow had quite a bit of intelligence and charisma. He just knew it. No other Tribute from the District had won after her, sure, but they hadn't had that much of a potential themselves. And, actually, from behind one of his father's shoulders, Luke winked at him.

– Great – Abi was answering back, her voice full with sarcasm, too focused on Taisho to notice that – I'm expecting nothing anyway. Take me to my room.

Ginger looked quite scandalized because of that huffy command, but she managed to keep a strained smile on her lips.

– Come, come, dear, a bit of good manners... – she tried to scold her, a little tensely.

– Good manners – Abi repeated, bitterly – They'll be useful, yeah.

Without adding anything else, except a harsh glance towards Sesshoumaru, she turned and stormed to the hallway they had come from. Ginger stayed motionless for a second, stunned, but then she hurried behind her hopping on her heels – probably more in order to make sure she didn't break one of the train's window than to be kind and escort her. Sesshoumaru followed her with his gaze for a moment, but then he looked back at the Mentors.

Luke patted a hand on Taisho's shoulder, with a little laughter.

– Well, thank you very much, boss – he snickered, his blue eyes shining with impertinence – I was looking forward to working with such a buttercup.

Taisho seemed to shoot him with a glance of admonishment, but didn't replied. Trudy let an amused snot slip out, while Veronica kept a straight face. Luke shrugged, without changing his relaxed smile; he passed a hand through his short blond curls and then looked at Sesshomaru.

– At least it'll be easy not to work hard to save her butt.

Another wink – a little more bitter expression on his face –, another pat on his father's shoulder, and he turned.

– I'm gonna make myself comfortable. See ya at lunch, people.

He walked in the opposite direction compared with the one Ginger and Abi had taken, to enter a different hallway that must have led to the head of the train, instead of the back. He hadn't disappeared yet when Veronica followed him, without a word.

Then silence descended upon the scene. Sesshoumaru hadn't moved by an inch, and his father gave him in the eye again.

Pain resurfaced in that look, but accompanied by something new: the cast-iron, cold decision of fighting. Sesshomaru felt the same will growing in his own chest – somehow, in that instant something sprang.

They had to become a team and win. Both of them were determined to. They said that to each other within the silence and the words imprint in the air.

Taisho came a couple of steps closer.

– It is probably unnecessary, but I'll tell you one thing – he said, his tone serious, full with authority – I will play all the way, even if I have to spill every drop of my blood, as a father. But the directives I'll give you, the advices and the orders, will be the ones of a Mentor. I expect you to follow them as such.

– Yes, sir.

There hadn't been anything ironic in his reply: it had come spontaneously to his lips, without an instant of hesitation, because Sesshoumaru hadn't ever felt that much respect towards his father. He didn't have any intention of being servile, yet what was running through his veins in that moment was nothing but sheer approval.

He hadn't felt so comfortable around him in ages.

Taisho's expression softened slightly. Despite his words, his parental affection made its way in his eyes again, together with some sadness – but it was fine. That was a good balance. That was what was going to take them high.

Then, he took a deep breath and put his hands on his sides.

– Lunch will be served soon. Then, around three o'clock, I want you to come here, to begin your... training. Even just a little at a time, it's going to be useful.

Sesshoumaru nodded. The man seemed satisfied; he gave him one last look – in which his suffering appeared to become more intense – before turning his back on him and following Luke and Veronica, moving past Trudy.

The girl seemed to have just taken off her jingly necklace of black stones, in a quite surprising silence considering the scene Sesshoumaru had assisted to just a few hours before. Somehow, he had almost forgotten she was there – but, naturally, this didn't last for long.

As soon as his father had left, Trudy bent over to take off her heels as well, with outstanding ease, like she had been looking forward to it since the instant she had put them on; she held her shoes in one hand, grabbed the necklace with the other without any particular care and then she turned to look at him, addressing him with a little, twinkly smile.

– Come with me, Junior – she told him, with no sign of uncertainty – I don't know where the hell Ginger is, but I better show you your room before we start rotting here, I guess.

She moved towards and past him, walking barefoot like it was nothing. Sesshomaru couldn't do anything but follow her in the hallway which he had come from, attempting to keep up with her swift and rapid pace, so different from his, without losing his composure.

Arrived in front of a door around half-way through the aisle, Trudy stopped almost suddenly, but somehow Sesshoumaru had expected her to and had maintained himself far enough not to bump into her. She seemed to hold back another little smile.

– I think it's this one – she announced, with her usual careless tone. “ _I think?_ ” – There are a bathroom and a wardrobe, all for you and you only. Wear whatever you want, if you feel like changing. As your old man has told you, it's almost time for lunch, anyway.

Sesshoumaru nodded coldly and moved in front of the door, ready to go in. Except for the fact that Trudy leaned on it, her arms crossed on her chest, without showing many intentions of getting out of the way anytime soon. He glared at her, frowning, and she looked back at him with no fear whatsoever, her chocolate-colored eyes almost malicious and a half-serious, half-impertinent expression on her pale face. The fact of being more or less eight inches shorter than him didn't seem to bother her.

After a long moment of silence, she took a deep, almost theatrical breath.

– I'm having conflicting feelings towards you, Junior – she began talking, with levity and seriousness at the same time, somehow – On one hand, I volunteered myself, so I'm not in the position to preach to you, and I guess I understand you. On the other...

She paused. Her smile became wider and more ironic, yet much more bitter as well.

– You've totally been an asshole, doing this to your father.

Sesshoumaru felt his face tensing with irritation. An angry, shocked girl's threats were one thing – such a clear, arrogant and gratuitous insult was a whole different story. An answer filled with poison was ready to come out from his chest, but after a few instants of pure ice in the air Trudy shook her head, looking relaxed again.

– Luke thinks the same, just so you know – she resumed speaking, ignoring Sesshoumaru's gelid stare – Veronica too, I believe... well, you know how she is, she's a little more difficult to probe, but I think I got the point straight, didn't I? Anyway, we'll work hard, at least for your old man. But just know there's only one way you can fix this crappy mess, little prince.

She moved away from the door and got a little closer.

– Win – she said simply, with a smile that could have meant a thousand emotions all together – Just win, Junior. Or there's a couple of fellas who are never going to forgive you.

She used the tip of one of her shoes to tap on his chest a couple of times, a playful gesture quite contrasting with the words she had just pronounced, just like the indulgent expression that appeared on her face the moment before she moved away and turned her back on him, walking away towards the end of the train without looking back anymore.

Sesshoumaru stared at her for a couple of seconds, motionless, before opening the door and then brusquely closing it behind him.

What had she tried to tell him, exactly? “ _You're obnoxious, but I love your father too much not to help you_ ”? Or had it been a very rude and inscrutable way to motivate him? Either one, he didn't care. He was already determined enough. And, as long as the sponsors would send their goods in the Arena, he could consider himself satisfied.

The room was spacious, clean, neat, clear of any useless furniture, yet still luxurious. The air smelled of mint and the bed was much softer than the one he was used to at home; the shower and the bathtub seemed to be provided with the most disparate controls, and the clothes in the wardrobe could have been enough for a lifetime. He decided to change, wearing a simple, white, close-fitting shirt and a pair of light blue jeans. He folded his father's suit with care and put it on the bed; he would've asked him or Ginger how to make sure it didn't get lost or thrown away.

He waited for lunchtime watching the panorama flowing outside the window at incredible speed. It was almost impossible to distinguish the nearest things, but he could see green fields expanding towards the horizon – grey mountains raising far away. Capitol City was getting closer and closer by the minute.

Ginger insisted to sit next to him at the table with the same vehemence Abi put in her desire to be the furthest from anyone. His father's face was still gloomy, but while Ginger was lavishing extremely detailed descriptions of all the courses and demanding to serve Sesshoumaru personally, staring at him in worship, Trudy and Luke did nothing but sniggering, frankly amused.

– I do wish _my_ escort was so doting towards me – the boy commented eventually, a little louder than what would've been polite. Trudy chuckled and Ginger blushed underneath her thick layer of foundation, finally letting go of Sesshoumaru's arm.

– I'm just being gracious – she replied, settling on her chair all upright.

– Sure, that's what I meant – Luke answered at once, with levity, but giving Sesshoumaru a complicit look that clearly said “ _You owe me one, pal_ ”. He did feel sort of relieved, even though far from being grateful. Abi seemed more irritated than ever.

For sure, anyway, the food exceeded any possible expectation. From the starters to the desserts, there wasn't any dish that was less than delicious – Sesshoumaru got himself some stew twice, which he had rarely ever done in his whole life. It wasn't like him to stuff himself until getting sick, not at all, but he had to admit he had never had such an excellent meal, and in the end he felt fully sated. Even Abi had appeared having a hard time keeping a furious expression, at least while she was bringing the fork to her lips.

Thanks to Trudy, Luke and Ginger, the minutes didn't pass by in complete, heavy silence, but Sesshoumaru didn't feel too sorry when the others began standing up one by one and scattering away again. Before he left, Trudy mouthed “ _At three o'clock, here_ ” in his direction, and he nodded slightly in response. He hadn't forgotten.

This time, during the wait he lied on his bed, partly recalling the moments of that day, partly wondering what his Mentors had in store for him.

The Reaping had truly been a success. In that moment, in some other District, more Tributes were being sorted, his future opponents – destined not to get back alive to their homes. The thought didn't upset him. Such were the rules of the game: they were harsh, yet he hadn't been the one to make them. Abi, as well, in about two or three weeks at most, was to become nothing more than a memory. Bizarre, how bad luck was able to work. If there was one single hope he had often found himself harboring... he would have preferred if in the Arena there had been only very few young Tributes: twelve was a much too tender age for the Games even in his opinion. He had been told that his father, although having two helpless children right in front of him, had refused to kill them with his own hands – despite the fact that the same kids would've been murdered later by another Tribute with a quite different sense of honor. As for how Sesshoumaru saw it, there was some cowardice in both choices, but deep down he knew that his father's would've probably been his as well; anyway, he could only hope never to find himself in the same situation. For sure, he was to learn a little more about it that night, when the summary of the various Reapings would have been transmitted on television, and, so, there was nothing left but waiting. No use in becoming impatient.

First off, he was to discover what was awaiting for him at three.

 

His father was leaning on a piece of furniture on the right side of the room, his arms crossed on his chest; Trudy was playing around with some cutlery scattered all over the dining table, but both turned and looked at him when he arrived. She had changed: now she was wearing a simple black shirt and a pair of sweatpants. She gave him a smile, friendlier than usual.

– Punctual just like a clock – she said, looking satisfied – Now we know that you won't blow yourself up running to the Cornucopia a little too early, do I stand correct?

Sesshoumaru didn't answer, nor he gave any sign of being amused. If she really thought he could be such an idiot...

– It's always good to mention that, but it's the last of my worries – Taisho murmured, somberly, glancing at him. A more significant comment. Sesshoumaru decided to address him.

– What else do you want to talk about? – he asked with cold calmness. He liked getting right to the point.

Even though she wasn't the one being consulted, it was Trudy who answered.

– There's not gonna be too much talking, I promise – she said, relaxed and practical – We've agreed, and you will too, that there's no use worrying about how you'll present yourself before the Games. Dad's reputation precedes you, awesome presence, yada yada yada. I mean, boss, look at him, he makes an impression even in a plumber's attire.

“ _Plumber?_ ”.

Trudy looked back and forth between him and his father, while a different kind of tension was forming in the air.

– Well, what's with those faces? It's an old classic, it's still pretty sexy in my opinion – she defended herself almost innocently, except she then frowned and gave a much more embarrassed look at Sesshoumaru – Oh, er... _this_ came out wrong, didn't it? Anyway, ahem, as I was saying... we were thinking that's already time to focus on the Arena. There are more or less endless aspects to inspect, so we better start soon.

With those words she regained his consideration, as well as her little smile. Even his father straightened up a little bit.

– In the District you're rumored to be a war machine – Trudy continued then – You'll forgive us for wanting to see something with our own eyes, won't ya? Catch!

Without any further warning, she tossed one of the knives on the table towards him – not hurled right to his chest, of course, more like the gesture of giving some crumbs of bread to birds, yet it would have been in enough to scare anyone.

Except him, who moved one step forward at once, bent over to catch the knife by its handle at least twelve inches above the ground, and got up in what must have looked like one single, fluid movement.

Trudy seemed sincerely pleased, despite the irritated glance Sesshoumaru gave her.

– Nice start, Junior! – she exclaimed, smiling more openly, and then she grabbed another knife with her right hand and moved away from the table – Let's go on, then. Show us what you can do.

Sesshoumaru was way far off backing away, but he couldn't help observing skeptically the silverware in their hands – roast was all they must have been able to kill up until then.

– Hey, there's no need to be picky – Trudy scolded him, and she looked more serious than what he could have expected – Do you think it's granted that you'll find a sword? I don't know if you noticed, but in the last few years there has been quite the shortage of available weapons. Your father had sweated his guts out for an entire night just to get the last boy a couple of daggers. So, rule number one: flexibility. Don't get obsessed over anything. Any certainty you have, any decision you take, just know that the Gamemakers can wipe them out just by snapping their fingers. Sure, you're some sort of a celebrity and they could be nice, but...

– No – Taisho interrupted her, serious – As much as the influence of the public is a fundamental aspect, I want it to be left out for now. It's never something you can really relay on.

For an instant there was silence, while Sesshoumaru perceived some sort of reproach in those words, and directed to him. As if, even though slightly differently, he hadn't heard that same song played over and over and over already. As if he truly needed a reminder.

– Right – Trudy nodded, however, before Sesshoumaru could really get annoyed – As I was saying, be flexible. Be ready to settle for some compromises. And we will never get the permission to carry around real weapons, Junior, so make do with it now and practice.

She gave him a little, friendly smile, as though she had just said something very fun and kind. Then she was serious again – or, better said, her face assumed a neutral expression, but her eyes still oozed impertinence while she was raising her knife and getting on guard, although somehow perfectly relaxed.

– Whenever you like.

And he didn't wait, not even for a second.

Without even focusing, nor assuming any kind of fighting-like attitude, he sprang forward in a flash – he erased the two-step gap between them and landed an abrupt blow backhanded with his piece of silverware, with enough strength to send Trudy's weapon clinking on the floor.

The girl nearly jumped backwards in astonishment and stared at him with her eyes wide open.

– Woah... o-okay, Junior, slow down! I hadn't even...

– Is that what I shall do in the Arena? – he interrupted her, speaking for the first time in a long while, moving back to where he was before – Slow down?

He hadn't been neither too bitter nor too caustic, yet Trudy stared at him with a mixture of disbelief, admiration and offense on her face. Both turned to Taisho, who was observing him, a spark of interest in his eyes. Sesshoumaru realized that was the first time his father would have watched him fight. He had never even just stepped into the gym while he was training.

– Your goddamn offspring has a point and quick legs – Trudy was commenting, with the same mixed feelings of her face in her voice. Then, with an amused snort and shaking her head, she bent over to retrieve her knife from the floor and stood up again with a daring smile, setting herself in position, yet avoiding to give him free rein too carelessly. This time Sesshoumaru raised his weapon, ready to go, but they were interrupted before they even started.

– Sometimes it's the right thing to do – Taisho said, and again the two of them turned to look at him. His expression was serious, yet not sullen – Slowing down, that is. It's not important now, we'll get back to it. But keep it in mind.

Sesshoumaru tried his best not to perceive this as an attempt to criticize him at all costs, but it was a way too clear impression to just shake it off. He felt his own face hardening, but he looked back at Trudy without answering.

Apparently, his father thought his dueling style was only based on attack, audacity and recklessness. He was going to prove him wrong.

Trudy shrugged – as though she actually preferred Sesshoumaru's approach over Taisho's – and for the third time she got in position. He looked at her in the eye.

– Okay. Second shot, lights, camera, action.

For a moment they remained still. Then Sesshoumaru decided he had granted enough time and attacked again, with more or less the same gestures.

This time, as expected, Trudy knew what was coming and dodged, moving a couple of steps backwards while he was delivering his blow, almost as quick as him. Then she attacked back, with a good move, but Sesshoumaru parried and pushed her away brusquely, forcing her to withdraw again. They met halfway, intercepting one the thrust of the other in a silvery jingling, and then they moved apart almost walking.

Of course, they weren't doing their best. Sesshoumaru could have used much more strength, and therefore Trudy would have been already on the ground; moreover, such short weapons were inconvenient even for her, who had never loved swords anyway. However, he understood it was a way to somehow get an impression about him, and he thought things were going well. They went on for a while and Trudy began putting some effort into giving him a hard time, moving faster, risking some less obvious and less predictable lunges, trying to deceive him with feints and quite dirty tricks, proving she was a seasoned fighter, and he really could have admitted that she managed just fine – she wasn't a Victor for nothing. When she had volunteered, many people had felt quite skeptical, because she didn't meet any of the canons the entire Panem was used to expect from District 1: no tall and slender build – actually, she didn't reach five-foot-five in height –, no aristocratic attitude, no blond and perfect hair, like his and his father's pale, long and silken locks, or Luke's golden curls, or even Veronica's copper-colored wavy mane – against those short and black tufts Trudy wore with great pride. And that sweet, childish name of hers? Almost laughable. Yet she had shown them what she was made of soon enough, and Sesshoumaru could appreciate it even more in that moment, while he was busy avoiding to be stabbed by a second course knife wielded by a girl who was half of him.

Anyway, it still was something not even close to his level.

He let it last enough so he could prove his defensive skills, how he could avert the most typical traps in a fight, backing away and dodging always in the most opportune moment and attacking back without becoming vulnerable, but soon he decided to clarify the matter: he was worth much, much more.

Trudy must have read the new-found determination on his expression, because she tried and retreated quickly after her last lunge, but it was useless: in an instant Sesshomaru was rushing against her, landing a blow with a hiss that sounded more lethal than it actually was; yet he succeeded in throwing her out of her balance. Another couple of tries, and Trudy's knife clank on the floor a second time.

He pulled back without a word, breathing at an almost perfectly regular pace, straightening himself like he had been before they started.

Trudy put her hands on her knees, bending over and taking a couple of deep breaths to get back to her normal respiration. That was it, anyway, and she was soon getting up and smiling, rubbing her slightly sweaty forehead with her hand to dry it.

– Okay, it was not a “live or die” situation – she commented, and her tired tone exuded radiant satisfaction while she was turning to Taisho – But I'll be damned, this one _does_ know what he's doing, let me tell you. It's... insane, actually. I think we can really work on it.

His father was staring at him and Sesshoumaru couldn't help but studying him back, looking for some sort of approval on his face, for a pinch of pride, maybe. What he found was a quite calm and not impressed enough expression, but its bitterness was gone – and for a moment, just for a moment, Sesshomaru saw in those golden eyes what could have been called, no doubt about it, hope. The following instant, a faint and incredibly sad smile cut through that face.

– You have my style.

Taisho seemed to be wounded by his own words, because even that painful ripple on his lips vanished after he had pronounced them, replaced by something that nearly looked like a grimace of sufferance, despite Sesshoumaru had felt a jolt of fleeting, cold joy deep inside him.

Then his father rubbed his face with his hand and went back looking almost impassive, as if with erasing his emotions from his features he could remove them from his heart as well.

– A good job indeed – he then commented, practically, in a low voice, without any particular enthusiasm, but not insincere – I could have watched for hours.

– No, thank you – Trudy smiled, winking at Sesshoumaru – Next time, this one will break me in two. Or the other way around.

– It's enough for today – Taisho nodded, thoughtfully – I already knew the rumors about your talent couldn't be just gossip. They were too many, and too unanimous. Yet I think you'll still have some hard work to do at the Training Center, in the next days. You'll find unusual weapons, which you may have always overlooked... try them. Practice. I suppose everything will come easy to you, but even for the greatest warriors a crumb of gained experience does have value. Test anything and... give it your best. Show what you're capable of. Sometimes I want my kids to hide what they excel at, as Trudy here did... but it's no use in your case.

– So... no surprise factor? – the girl asked, serious – I mean, I agree. I just want to be sure _you're_ sure. There's no turning back.

– I'm sure – Taisho replied, calmly, inspecting Sesshoumaru's figure – We'll know something more once we can meet the other Tributes, but I bet they'll be desperately willing for discrediting him, at least some of them, the smartest ones, or the ones with the smartest Mentors. The more you show them you're not only words and fame, the better it is. You are able to elicit fear. We'll use that.

Sesshoumaru nodded, for he had nothing to demur. That strategy appeared perfect and he was not going to struggle in order to adopt it.

– You want a suggestion, Junior? – Trudy added, in a friendly manner – Don't underestimate yourself with short weapons. You're good. Work on it. They can be very handy, if well used.

– Not everyone has the same tastes, Trudy – Taisho answered – I, myself, have always preferred swords.

– I know, I wasn't denying that. But I just want him to know he can take the best out of anything. Later he did look very doubtful...

– Don't worry about his self-esteem.

Intentional or not, the sentence came out very bitter, almost sarcastic, and echoed like a gunshot. Sesshoumaru tensed, and Taisho didn't meet his eyes. Trudy broke the tension raising her hands in surrender.

– As you wish, boss – she said louder than she needed, with quite a strained glib – I guess we can call the meeting off, can't we? Dinner is served early, Junior, because we have to watch the show on TV right after.

Taisho nodded and Sesshoumaru didn't wait any longer. He tossed his knife on the table and turned his back on his Mentors, entering the hallway more quickly than he should have.

He hadn't actually sweated, but he took a shower anyway, hoping that the hot gush of water and the expensive body washes could cool down his anger a little bit. They did, but only partially.

It was dumb of him to feel so offended, his mind kept telling him, but he couldn't help it.

What did his father really think?

One moment he was praising him, showing that he clearly understood how incredible his potential was, and the following second he was blaming him for being presumptuous and full of himself – just like everyone who knew him superficially. Sesshoumaru knew he was haughty, not humble, and never selling himself short, but why should have he? He wasn't a liar, neither to himself nor to others. Yes, he knew himself and yes, he appreciated himself. He was just realistic. And of all the people, his father...

He closed his eyes, drops of water running down on his face and body unceasingly.

He couldn't afford to be furious with him, not while the Games were getting closer and closer. But he couldn't keep himself from thinking that they had a truly long way to go, despite those moments in which he had felt at ease, appreciated, not stared at like he was from some other planet, and despite all the good intentions both he and his father could have.

“ _Don't pout and don't be kind either_ ”: the best solution he could suggest himself.

 

Dinner would have been more or less the replica of lunch, if only the food and its incredible quality had been considered; as it turned out, Sesshoumaru added himself to the people in a terrible mood. Not that he had ever been cheerful nor joyous, but his gloomy attitude, no matter how he tried to conceal it, was so evident, Abi almost lightened up. The fact that his father had decided to sit right next to him didn't make things any better, despite the kindness he used while talking to him or handing him courses or sauces. Sesshoumaru nodded with icy courtesy, without ever meeting his eyes. Trudy couldn't do anything but putting the triple of effort into being boisterous and diverting the attention away from them, and luckily she soon managed to drag Luke, Ginger and even Veronica into an interesting discussion about which one of the District 4 Victors was the best and worthiest of respect. Sesshoumaru should have probably listened, because every now and then the Mentors did make some technical remarks that could have been useful in the future, but he really wasn't feeling like it. He preferred focusing on the dinner, and he felt quite relieved when finally the moment to watch the Reapings' rerun arrived.

The entire group stood up almost at the same time, and most of them began to move towards the couches, starting another discussion on how to organize the space the best they could. When Sesshoumaru stood, however, he found his father on his way, too close for comfort and clearly unwilling to move: the man put his hand on his arm and looked at him right in the eyes. His were filled with sincere regret.

– I'm sorry, son – he murmured in a low voice, as if he wanted to be sure the conversation stayed private.

Sesshoumaru could feel ice forming a mask on his face. He appreciated the words, but on the other hand he was too proud to give in so easily. He tried to dismiss him with a nod and move away, but Taisho didn't let go.

– Really – he underlined without raising his voice, deep melancholy in his words – You're way too smart not to know you're not insecure. It just came out wrong.

Sesshoumaru remained silent, his scorn and certainty somehow undermined. He looked back at him almost surprised and half-opened his lips, on the verge of giving him an answer, but he couldn't find any that could be dignified and appropriate at the same time, so he ended up shaking his head slightly, in a gesture that could have been interpreted as forgiveness as well as umbrage.

His father sighed and tightened his grab on his arm. The way he was looking at him was more intense than ever.

– Listen – he whispered, with a certain urgency – It's not easy. I'm not happy. But I swear, Sesshoumaru, the last thing I want is...

He wasn't meant to know, apparently, because Luke's voice arrived loud and clear.

– Are the king and the prince going to have a sit?

His father was forced to turn and move a step away from him, which caused him relief as well as slight displeasure for the interruption, but there wasn't time to get back to the conversation: Taisho headed towards the group and gestured him to follow, his face serious. He had to obey.

They had saved him the central spot on the large couch right in from of the television. Abi looked at him with a bitter grimace, sitting as far as she could on his right, but she didn't dare to protest. Trudy sat on his left, much closer, her legs crossed, giving him a little smile he ignored. Ginger and Veronica placed themselves on the side couches, while Luke and Taisho decided to remain standing. Sesshoumaru could clearly perceive his father's presence right behind him, his hands perhaps close to his shoulders.

Ginger turned on the television with a delighted chuckle.

The screen lightened up on the right channel, and the first image was the one of two hosts with dazzling smiles and completely absurd hair colors – electric blue and fuchsia.

– … _before we even get started_ – the one on the right was saying, with undeniable excitement – _We want to inform anyone who has any doubt, anyone who has missed our live recording, anyone who just wants some confirmation, that yes, my beloved fellow citizens! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the son of Hyou Taisho, our famous and much-admired Victor from District 1, will compete in the next Hunger Games!_

Ginger squealed in enthusiasm and Sesshoumaru didn't even need to turn to notice the satisfaction on Trudy's face. But there was no time to comment: the other host had taken the floor.

– _Probably the most exciting event since the Quarter Quell, isn't it? There's not doubt this young man will ensure us an extraordinary show, but let's not forget he won't be all alone in that Arena!_

– _Of course not, James, and some of his opponents already look rather interesting, don't they? But it's time to show Panem the details, in our replica of the Reapings of the thirty-second Hunger Games. Enjoy yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, starting right with the exceptional events from District 1!_

A few moments later the scene changed, and what followed surely helped Sesshoumaru's mood to relax.

Ginger looked more ridiculous than ever on the wide stage of the District, while Abi, although beautiful, was so evidently upset with rage, she made the images almost embarrassing and unpleasant to watch. The draw of the fifteen-year-old kid nearly looked like a joke, but the hosts kept quiet, while tension was raising inevitably in the silence of the square, made even deeper by the adjustments to the sound. And his voice echoed perfectly, so clearly that Sesshoumaru thought for a moment he had spoken again.

– _Me. I volunteer as a Tribute._

The hosts began to pour out a river of excited words while the crowd made way for him, a continuous flow about how tall, handsome, elegant, and most of all similar to his father he was, to the point they almost missed the moment he announced his name in the microphone – “ _Sesshoumaru Taisho_ ”, two words to inflame the crowd. Luckily the footage didn't linger on Ginger's stupid surprise, preferring to frame Taisho Senior, close enough on the stage, his fake smile so practiced, it looked sincere, charming, and even _proud_ in front of Capitol's audience. For a moment Sesshoumaru and his father's pictures alternated and maybe for the first time ever the boy realized just how they really _were_ the exact copy of each other, just from two different generations. The show cut off Taisho's abrupt leaving and the brief conversation between Abi and Sesshoumaru – they were in a hurry since they wanted to move to the station, for a new runway show of the object of their most complete attention.

– _He looks like he's made of ice, doesn't he?_

– _Beautiful and lofty like an angel..._

– _A snow king!_

Some comparisons were even more stupid than that one, but until he hadn't disappeared on the train not even one of them was discordant: he simply was a perfect young Tribute, and no one could have denied it after they had seen him walking like a warrior and a model together, gracefulness and strength forming an unbelievable sight without him even trying. Better said, Abi's face was almost green with rage for she had barely been framed for a moment, but that wasn't an important detail.

Sesshoumaru felt success foaming in his chest. It was clear the hosts would have liked to linger a little longer on the topic of him, but there were eleven more ceremonies to transmit – and the one that followed right after cooled down the flames of his satisfaction way too soon.

The square in District 2 had a much darker look, despite the afternoon sun shining in the sky. It was no surprise, but it was a difficult feeling to shake off.

A girl volunteered first. Everyone in the room seemed to lean forward to examine her better, but Sesshoumaru wasn't very impressed: she had a proud appearance, fiery eyes, dark hair up in a bun on her nape, and she surely was attractive, but nothing out of the ordinary – nothing like him, and he didn't even memorize her name.

Then the boys' turn came, with another volunteer.

And all the tables suddenly turned.

A feeling of deep discomfort began forming in Sesshoumaru's gut since the very first moment he saw him: he was dressed in black, and a cascade of ebony hair covered his back with soft, long waves. He got on the stage with a kind of confidence which didn't remind of Sesshoumaru's at all, but not any less shocking – somehow slacker, as if he was just merely strolling, but he was so tall, with such a perfect build, he just oozed out self-assurance, even amusement, an extremely relaxed elegance.

– _What's your name, honey?_

– _Naraku Saimyosho._

This was a name that marked itself right into his mind – or maybe it was his voice, so warm and deep, with an irreverent and sensual shade so evident, for a moment everything fell silent.

– _This boy shines with charisma, doesn't he?_

Sesshoumaru clenched his fists on his knees. He felt his father leaning a little forward to have a better look. Nobody in the room was smiling while, in the black paved station of District 2, that Naraku sneered at the cameras – incredibly, undeniably  _beautiful_ , his skin as white as snow, his features sharp, his eyes sparkling with charm and at the same time elusive, his lips just perfect for that seductive sneer of his.

Maybe he was taller than Sesshoumaru, for sure his shoulders were wider. He even waved slightly to a couple of cameras – yet, it was nothing exaggerated or ridiculous. He wasn't a buffoon. He was simply...

– … _so beguiling! So confident!_

The girl was walking in his shade, but she had nothing that reminded of Abi's resentment; there was almost the ghost of a smile on her pale face, while she moved calmly behind him, but Sesshoumaru forgot about her soon.

– _It seems a rival has quickly emerged, for the White Tiger's heir! Wonderful, isn't it?_

– _I'm sure all of our audience is simply dying to know both of these young men better!_

– I can't believe it – Trudy hissed beside him. Then she turned to him, a light of gloomy irritation in her eyes – Trouble.

Her bitter whisper couldn't have summed up better every and each thought that was crossing the silent room in that moment. Sesshoumaru turned just in time to see his father rubbing his anguished face with his hand, but he went back to stare at the screen before their eyes could meet.

The show didn't linger much on District 2, but while two pale, skinny and dark-haired teenagers where sorted in District 3 Sesshoumaru found it difficult to focus. Some real annoyance – anger – was biting him inside his stomach.

No person had ever raised such a clear impression in his bowels before: that boy _was_ trouble. There was something completely untrustworthy in his breathtaking handsomeness. And, most of all, the audience was already making comparisons – when he should have been the only one, the greatest object of attention.

The volunteers from District 4 weren't thrilling either – the boy was almost effeminate, actually –, while District 5 brought a new wave of discomfort in his chest: first they sorted a little girl who couldn't have been older than fourteen, deathly pale and delicate, and right after they picked an even tinier redheaded kid, already in tears. Also the girl from District 6 was skinny, blonde and lost, while the male was tall, dark-haired and apparently having a quite strong physique, an angry yet fierce grimace on his fair face. District 7 provided another insignificant young lady and another scared, puny little kid.

District 8 was usually the last one to worry about, not counting District 12, but Sesshoumaru frowned when he saw its female Tribute. A quick glance at Trudy and the other Mentors told him they weren't thinking anything in particular, yet that girl... she clearly was beautiful. Not very tall, it seemed, yet slender, lithe, pale. Her long black hair looked as smooth as silk. But, most of all, there was a kind of dignity in the way she walked towards the stage – in the way she stood there silently, her face cold and noble –, something that reminded him of himself. It wasn't his exact same self-confidence, but if only her District had been more prestigious, if only her dress had been less modest... she could have inspired respect. Much more than the companion fate decided to pair her with, anyway, with his slightly hysterical giggle and his _really_ womanish face. Even the hosts said something about the girl's beauty, and they repeated her name – Kikyou, wasn't it? Sesshoumaru looked around once more and once more he saw he was the only one interested, or so it seemed. He didn't think he was wrong, though.

The female Tribute of District 9 was destined to get stuck in his brain as well – and it was unpleasant, not because she was a threat, but because he couldn't believe that such a tiny girl could really be twelve years old. She looked eight at most. She must have weighted seventy pounds tops – next to the average-height young man sorted with her, next to _anybody_ on that stage, she simply looked microscopic. And terrified. Her square was the most silent of all. Sesshoumaru waited for someone to take action somehow – there must have been a mistake, her age couldn't square with her appearance, or someone should have taken her away from there... but the child got on the train, looking back over her shoulder with her big eyes filled with despair.

Luckily, she was the last excessively young Tribute to be sorted. The girl from District 10 was very pretty, with green eyes and two red pigtails, but that was it; the male was skinny, but he had an arrogant and resolute expression on his face, and long light hair that oddly looked like Sesshoumaru's. Both Tributes from District 11 seemed more robust – she had a gentle yet determined face, he had dark skin and a long braid on his back. The hosts said something about how his name and the ones of two previous boys were very similar and how interesting this was, but in his opinion nothing had outdone the angel in black from District 2 yet, and nothing did: District 12 didn't bring much excitement, as usual, with a couple of scrawny teenagers, dirty with soot even on such an important day, although the male had something profound in his grieved expression.

– _In conclusion, James, there's a lot to talk about, right? Don't miss the parade of our new Tributes tomorrow night, since I'm sure someone will make an even more amazing impression..._

– _How do you think they'll manage to make Taisho's son even more perfect than he already is?_

– _I don't know, his stylist will have a lot of work to do, or very little! But District 2's staff as well, however..._

– _Stay with us for our exclusive broadcast of Hyou Taisho's Reaping, on this channel in a couple of minutes, and for any juicy news and information we'll be able to gather for you! Let us know your opinions..._

– Turn if off – Taisho himself ordered, authoritatively. Sesshoumaru would have liked to watch that Reaping, at least because of the suit and the comments about it, but Ginger obeyed quickly and the screen became as black as ink.

For a moment silence reigned.

– A lot of children, this year – was the first escort's remark, and something of her frivolous tone annoyed Sesshoumaru. He had noticed himself, of course, and his displeasure was ultimate.

– Cool – Abi answered instead, her voice more relaxed that it has ever been before, almost content – They're easy targets.

Then she turned to Sesshoumaru. A little cruel smile curled her lips, while her eyes glimmered malevolently.

– Is it me, or you're not the unquestioned little prince anymore? – she asked, without sparing any wicked irony – What a shame.

– Is it me, or that guy is also your problem, and a big one, too?

The entire room turned to Veronica, who didn't even flinch. She kept a cold and severe expression, her light brown eyes staring at Abi, and Sesshoumaru thought that he may have appreciated her as his Mentor. Trudy brought her hand to her mouth, and being so close he could easily guess she was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

Abi's cheeks were redder than Ginger's clothes and a fresh new wave of anger swamped on her face. The silence that lasted through those second was one of the longest and tensest of that day, before she suddenly jumped up from the couch and stormed away towards her room. No one tried to make her stay.

Veronica sighed, shaking her head.

– I'm sorry – she said eventually, talking to Taisho – I know that I should at least pretend to be on her side. But I can't stand her. Nobody should talk to you or your son with that attitude. I won't accept it.

Luke nodded, but didn't add anything.

– Try not to worry – Taisho answered tiredly – She's in a very difficult situation. But thanks.

– We're always with you, boss – Trudy murmured, turning to him and taking his hand with no hesitation.

– The bond you share with your boys and girls is so touching, Hyou – was Ginger's quite inappropriate comment, which earned her some scowls, yet she didn't seem to notice – I think I'll retire too, though. It's been a splendid, long day, and tomorrow will be even better! Goodnight, everyone!

Only Luke and Trudy said goodnight back, and with little enthusiasm.

When the ticking of her heels was gone, Sesshoumaru turned to look at his father. He met his eyes. There was not much room left for his intimate sadness: his frown and his hardened expression seemed to come from a somehow much more concrete concern.

– I do not like that boy – he told the group at last – I truly don't. And not just because of the attention the media gave him.

– I bet Bline is pleased as punch – Trudy muttered, but then she cheered up ever-so-slightly – Okey-dokey, we know who we have to keep an eye on. I don't like him a bit either. But Junior here has bewitched the cameras, that's for sure! We just need to keep our grip on them, no panic. And Fancy better do a damn extraordinary job tomorrow night.

– Yeah, it's no use to overestimate things, boss – Luke added, trying to be reassuring – Same goes to you, Junior. Until we... er, _you_ don't know Mister Playboy-Smile better, there's little you can do. Maybe he sucks using swords. I mean, all kinds of swords, eh eh...

– Oh, shut up, idiot! – Trudy scolded him at once, despite the faint snicker she couldn't hold back – We all better get some rest. The day's been long indeed.

Taisho nodded, and the people sitting on the couch got up. There weren't many more exchanges of words, just some goodnights here and there, and then the room emptied.

Lying in his bed – wrapped in the softest pajamas he had ever worn –, Sesshoumaru kept staring at the ceiling for a while.

He couldn't get the little girl from District 9 out of his mind. The brunette from District 8 sometimes appeared before his eyes as well.

But it was Naraku's smile what tormented him the most, so seductive, so _hateful_.

To the point he even saw it in his dreams.

 

 

 

– We should turn the TV on, the replicas are about to begin – Bline stated, starting to get up from his chair.

– I'm not done with my dessert – Naraku answered casually, twiddling with his spoon around his melting ice-cream – We still have a few minutes...

Kagura snorted, amused, and shook her head. Visna, in front of him, frowned.

– You're a slow eater – she commented coldly, inspecting him with her ebony eyes, which seemed willing to probe into his core – Hurry up. It's important.

– And playing with your food is bad manners – Sally, their escort, added from the other side of the table. Naraku raised his eyes and addressed her with a warm, sensual little smile.

– But I truly do enjoy playing – he replied, without putting much effort into being seductive, yet successfully making her blush. “ _Stupid goose_ ”. Anyway, he brought his spoon to his lips. The ice-cream was covered with hot honey. He loved honey.

– Soon you'll be having fun, young man – Bline said, halfway between seriousness and leniency, stroking his beard – And it's going to be much more exciting than stirring some soup.

Naraku couldn't help but widening his smile. Yes, he did agree on that.

He ignored the silence around him while he was swallowing a couple more mouthfuls. Goodness, such sweetness was divine...

– You can finish it later – Visna decided, getting up on her feet – We can't miss District 1. On the couches, _now_.

Naraku gave her a quick look and opted for no talking back. He didn't mean to push his luck too far against one of his most important Mentors. With her tall, slim figure and her sharp features, the woman managed to inspire some sort of instantaneous respect, even ignoring the details of her past as a Tribute and Victor – and it wasn't easy to ignore them.

The whole table got up and began moving towards the couches. Naraku put his arm around Kagura's waist and led her until they sat right in the middle, side by side, without asking any permission. He knew his – their rights.

– Do we _have_ to stay here? – Caius asked. He was one of the four younger Victors, and he was stretching his arms, clearly bored.

– No, you don't, if you ain't going to be useful – Bline answered, gloomily. Caius and the other three boys didn't waste any time: all of them vanished into one of the hallways leading to the bedrooms.

Nothing to worry about. All Naraku needed were the two most experienced Mentors, the ones who were to handle the sponsors' business, and Kagura was to be trained with him.

Visna and Bline were standing behind the two Tributes, and Sally turned on the TV.

They caught an incredibly short glimpse of a couple of showmen in blue and pink, before the images switched to show District 1's ample and sun-drenched plaza.

– We lost the preamble – Bline murmured, but following the events was too important, and nobody replied.

So, events it was.

“ _That escort sounds even more stupid than ours_ ”, was Naraku's first thought, while the little woman was skipping here and there on the stage.

They called the name of the female Tribute.

“ _Woah. Your smile is just dazzling, babe_ ”.

The gal was livid with rage. Despite she looked at least seventeen and fit, she clearly wasn't happy at all to be on that stage. They asked if there were any Volunteers... and not a single soul spoke.

– No Volunteers? – Bline exclaimed, frowning – It hasn't happened in a while.

– It's weird – Visna whispered – She doesn't look like she wanted to be drawn.

– We all know everyone is a wimpy snob, in District 1 – Kagura commented, carelessly.

Meanwhile, they had drawn a younger kid. An odd silence fell in the video.

And there it was a male Volunteers, saving the District's honor: an almost too clear and loud voice. And the reporters began yakking so excitedly and so suddenly, it was almost difficult to understand a single word they were saying.

Naraku narrowed his eyes.

“ _Well, hello, sweetheart_ ”.

The one making its way in the crowd – or better said, which the crowd spontaneously made way to – was, without any doubt, one hell of a pair of buttocks. And a tall, slender body. And a white face way too beautiful to be real, even from faraway.

– He looks familiar – Visna said softly – I don't like him.

The hosts quit talking only when the little prince came forward to announce his name.

– _Sesshoumaru Taisho._

Behind him, the Mentors held their breaths so abruptly, he turned, perplexed. They both had their eyes wide open.

– No way – Bline snapped, incredulous, but the images on the screen did their best to prove him wrong: the cameras focused on one of District 1's former Victors, a still incredibly good-looking man with a smile that seemed to hide something. It didn't take long to realize the ridiculous resemblance between the Volunteer and that Victor: same hair, same eyes, same features, they even had the same physical built.

– … _father and son, it can't be any other way!_

Naraku would have appreciated a more detailed explanation – if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was _not knowing_ –, but his Mentors appeared to be speechless and he was just left looking at the screen: Sesshoumaru (“ _Interesting name_ ”) walked to the train like a king. That suit of his was nothing impressive, but there was something in him that was just... _beyond_. Naraku had never seen such an icy and noble expression, such a haughty and perfect self-confidence in one single person. And he was handsome – just as beautiful as the moon, or as a winter morning, or as the worst asshole of a prince ever conceived in a fairy tale.

Naraku bit his lips.

He could feel the danger. The name “Taisho” didn't even sound new, now that he thought about it. But all of that was somehow... exciting.

His mood, anyway, was soon clouded. He had expected at least as much enthusiasm for himself – he knew he had bet it all on his charm, for that first impression –, but his disappointment was quite sharp: sure, he was stunning on that screen, mysterious and dark as he had wanted to be, but the hosts had a much better hold on themselves. The clamor in the plaza was not nearly as loud. The cameras, which on the spot he had believed were quite agitated for his satisfaction, didn't move with the same frenzy given to the golden boy. His handsomeness was admired and glorified, but most of all compared to _Sesshoumaru Taisho_ 's. Again and again. Even Kagura was frowning with surprise.

– Who the hell was that guy? – she asked, her eyebrows raised, but the Mentors shook their heads.

– Later. Just pray there won't be any more surprises like that one.

There were not. Naraku tried to study every single other Tribute with all of his attention, but nothing was as striking as the Snow King. That brunette from District 8 had almost the same aura – and she was a knock-out –, but she elicited less of a fuss than he had supposed. He was quite amused by the incredible coincidence of the three guys with more or less the same name – _Sui-kotsu, Ja-kotsu, Ban-kotsu_ –, but that was nothing more than a joke, after all. The boy from District 10 had such a cocky attitude, he caused him the irresistible urge to make him mad just for the fun of it; for the rest, lots of nonentities and most of all sprogs. Didn't they even check the age of their little girls, in District 9?

At the end of the rerun, the hosts announced that, later on, they would show as a special the Reaping of that phantasmal Hyou Taisho.

– You think they should watch it? – Bline asked sullenly.

– It'd only make them more nervous, and the same goes for me – Visna answered, irritated – I don't want to hear another word for tonight. Turn it off, Sally.

The escort obeyed at once, and then there was silence.

– The son of _Hyou Taisho_ – was Bline's next comment, coming out quite angrily – I can't fucking believe it.

– I've heard that name before – Naraku said, turning on the couch so that his neck wouldn't hurt while he was speaking with his Mentors – I know he's a popular Victor. But is he worth all of this fuss?

Bline and Visna exchanged a look.

– Let me get this straight – the man began, with extreme seriousness – If that boy is worth even _half_ of what his father was, then he's incredibly big trouble. _Incredibly_ big.

He paused, almost as he wanted his words to take root.

– On the other hand – he resumed then, deep in thought – I'm pretty damn sure Taisho Senior would have never, ever, volunteered for the Games. And their attitude doesn't look the same. I think we can work on this.

– Oh, I'll work on him – Naraku murmured, the shadow of a smile again on his lips – Even though not the way I'd want to.

– What? – Bline asked, frowning. Naraku held down a laughter.

– Nothing. I like challenges more when they're pretty.

– The girl will be full of resentment, her Mentors won't move as much as a finger for her – Visna observed – If they knew who was going to volunteer among the boys, in the District... well, now it doesn't surprise me that no girl stepped out.

– I wasn't talking about the girl – Naraku replied, dryly.

For a moment, there was quite the awkward silence. Sally shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Kagura looked at him with a sort of lenient coldness.

– Are you... mhm... – Bline started asking, not without hesitation.

– I like both – he answered lightheartedly, winking towards Sully, who blushed – I'm curious about this Taisho, though. I mean the father, right now, since we can't know much about his little boy. Any useful information?

– First of all, don't get too attached to that pretty prince – Visna told him, quite coldly – Second, there's a lot to say about Hyou Taisho.

– He's incredible – Sally intervened, voice filled with trepidation – I mean... I didn't watch his Games, but... everybody knows him, in Capitol City. Everybody _wants_ to know him. He's so elegant and well-mannered. Loyal, too.

The hint of bitterness in her voice made Naraku wonder whether she had ever tried something with him or not, but the conversation went on on more important issues.

– There's a reason he's so popular – Bline began explaining, crossing his arms on his chest – He won the fourth Hunger Games, so he's not the oldest Victor... but I can assure you he was the first one to really _be_ like a Victor should. The first being admired, loved by the audience, and he did deserve it. He was only seventeen, and I think he had never fought before, but the way he could use a sword... incredible is the right word to describe it. He was good-looking, of course, and he was _fierce_. I don't know how some people just have charisma in them, but he sure did. On top of this, he came across a couple of helpless children, and he didn't even touch them.

– That doesn't sound so impressive – Kagura commented, cautiously skeptical.

– Yet it is – Bline replied – The point of killing other Tributes in the Arena is trying and winning before something unexpected like a beast, a natural disaster or a trap kills you. Capitol City loves bloodshed, but it's also very sentimental. Risking everything, despite being strong and having all the chances to win, just for a couple of kids... it sounds brave, doesn't it.

– So is this the tactic we're going to use? – Naraku asked, serious and amused at the same time – Sweet nothings?

– Nope – Bline answered – As I said, bloodshed is fine. I'm just explaining the fuss about Taisho... well, only part of it, actually.

– The point is, Taisho is an unbelievably influential and righteous man – Visna highlighted – A romantic hero, a respected and loved leader. They say all of his Tributes adore him. What's for sure, Capitol wags its tail at his feet as much as it can. If he ever started a revolution, I wouldn't be surprised to see him succeed.

– That's fun – Naraku commented, and he wasn't completely joking – Ever suggested that to him?

– He's lived through a civil war, that should be enough for him – Bline answered – Our problem, or should I say _your_ problem, is his goddamn son, who will lure sponsors like stupid moths. And the Gamemakers are not famous for their impartiality.

– They're no cuties, either – Kagura replied – And we don't know if the son lives up to the father. He kind of looks like an asshole, not the kind of guy who would sacrifice himself for a child.

– That's what I'm hoping – the man nodded – He could as well be just a cocky kid, stupid enough to try to emulate his father without actually being able to.

The others seemed to like that idea, but Naraku wasn't convinced. Taken a look at that buttercup, it was easy to understand he was well above average. Speaking of natural charisma, he had it in him, and not just some ordinary, mawkish heroic attitude. He couldn't shake the feeling he was oh, so much more – he couldn't wait to meet him. But he preferred not to spoil the atmosphere.

– By the way, he's skinny – he underlined instead, and thought it to be a valid remark. He was surely heavier and more muscular than him. But Bline's expression clouded again.

– Taisho Senior was too – he answered – And he killed a lion.

Naraku and Kagura looked at him, frowning.

– It's not a metaphor. Why do you think they call him the White Tiger?

Naraku did find it a very silly nickname, but he suddenly understood it was not something to joke about.

– Well, can I just point out something? – Sally intervened again, flaunting a blinding smile that looked quite out of place – They're already saying you're his rival, darling. You _can_ steal his thunder.

After a moment of collective amazement – had _Sally_ just said something _smart?_ –, Bline nodded.

– We'll be busy, that's for sure – he said again, but less sullenly, this time – It's impossible to compete with his fame, but there's still everything else. We have potential. Speaking of which, the Opening Ceremony is gonna be interesting. It's more important than ever that you two make a wonderful second impression.

Naraku smiled faintly hearing those words, “you two”, and in that moment he met Kagura's eyes. He realized she had been watching him. He didn't avert his gaze nor he changed his expression while he let her crimson eyes study him; eventually, she smiled back.

He would miss her, probably. Or not.

At the moment, he was more interested in thinking about that little ice flower – that beautiful asshole who had stolen the limelight from him. He could still see that gorgeous, breathtaking face of his. The certainty he wasn't just a famous name and nothing more burnt inside his bowels.

Oh, hadn't he looked sexy on TV. And that attitude of his, that condescending manner he obviously had? They were pure promises of _fun_. It was difficult to break someone's dignity and proud if they didn't have a lot of them, now, wasn't it?

Naraku smiled to himself.

That was not going to be easy.

But he did love playing with his food.

 


End file.
